


it will never, ever, turn back on

by jennycaakes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: End of the World, M/M, Power Outage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-12-22 01:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 39,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11956632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennycaakes/pseuds/jennycaakes
Summary: It's 17 years after the Blackout and Monty's used to life in his small settlement--but he's always wanted something more. After a few back to back tragedies, Monty finds himself on a journey to Chicago with a strange pendant, walking alongside a man with a dangerous smile.Based off of NBC's Revolution. Miller x Monty.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anniebibananie (alindy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alindy/gifts).



> soOoOO I started this like twelve years ago for Annie's birthday because I love her and she deserves the world but it got uhhh kind of long??? but enjoy. you don't have to know anything about Revolution to understand the fic tbh. it's just like, the power goes out, and everything stops working, and yeah that's that. happy birthday Annie!!
> 
> apologizing in advance for all the italics + spacing issues that there are!!

Monty only vaguely remembers when the lights went out.

When he was a child he used to watch things on a small square box in the living room. Pokemon, mostly, and the Powerpuff Girls when it was on. Lots of Scooby Doo. But there was a flash at one point, a blue and gray flicker, and then the power was out.

He remembers his mother standing by the light switch with a frown on her face, flicking the light up and down and waiting for the room to glow with yellow again despite the fact that it never did. He learned, when he was older, that his father was never coming home because of the power, either. That when it turned off, the plane he was on that was flying home, went down too. That it wasn’t just the electricity but _everything_.

Cars. Trains. Cell phones. Flashlights. Anything that had a power source, gone. Useless. 

He’s older now. Nearly 23, if his mother’s right, and the world’s still dark.

The memory of those things--electricity, television, cars--comes to him in dreams. The aftermath, the attempt to get sparks, the attempt to start engines or turn on phones, that's a little more solid. Many older people still complain about the lack of those things today. There's no comprehension about how it all turned off. It just doesn't make _sense_. 

Most of Monty's memory, though, is light. Monty remembers light. Not the small, flickering candles that sit in his windowsill now, but overwhelming yellow, pouring into every corner of the room.

But that was years ago, a distant memory, and it might _as well_ have been a dream. His mother still works to try and get a car engine started, to spark up some sort of electricity with a computer, but as far as Monty knows, it’s out. It’s gone. All forms of mechanical energy stay sleeping, stuck in this perpetual state of existing without being useful.

The world has adapted.

“It’s _ridiculous_ ,” Monty says that afternoon, standing out in the field with Jasper. He’s just walked in on his mother hunched over _another_ computer, _another_ failure, and he doesn’t understand why she’s still trying. He glances toward their settlement with a frown on his face while Jasper continues with his rake. “What is she trying to accomplish?”

“The world’s been dark for fucking ever,” Jasper says, wiping at his forehead with his sleeve. “She lived most of her life when it wasn’t. Probably misses it.”

“But technology wasn’t mom’s _thing_ ,” Monty says with a huff. It had always been his father who was up late tinkering. Monty remembers sitting on his dad’s lap through one conference call, through two, watching as lines of code danced across the screen while his father frantically typed in things Monty couldn’t understand. “I don’t know. It bothers me.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Jasper says, turning to face Monty. “You miss it too.” Monty frowns. “You collect _postcards_ , dude,” he reminds him. “In a tin lunch box. That you hide in an old, abandoned car.”

“It’s not like I have the means to travel!”

Jasper points at him. “Exactly!”

Monty huffs again. He started collecting postcards a few years ago. No big deal. He misses what the world used to look like, when buildings stretched into the sky. Or those night views of all the lights on in the city. It makes him nostalgic for places that he’s never been. Potential he’s never gotten to reach.

“It’s just--”

Suddenly there’s a sound of a gunshot and Monty feels it in his stomach. He and Jasper share a glance and then Jasper drops his rake and then they’re sprinting, back to their settlement, running so hard that every step feels like a gunshot of his own, harder and louder. There’s another gunshot, a shriek, and then they’re there and Monty can’t breathe.

The sound of a gunshot in the middle of their small, on the outskirts of all major cities settlement, is terrifying.

Guns are not allowed at all. Two gunshots and a scream? Something is wrong, something is horrifyingly wrong.

“...been dead for years, please, _please_ ,” Monty hears. Pleading. He finds his mother on the ground bleeding out and runs straight for her, Jasper right behind him. _“_ _Please!”_

“What the hell?” Jasper shouts, rushing for the man with a gun. He throws himself in the way but Monty knows it’s pointless. His mother’s bleeding out, red is everywhere, and stopping one Militia man from firing another shot isn’t going to change that. “What’s going on!”

“Mom,” Monty lowers himself to the ground beside her.

“Monty, Monty, Monty,” she rushes. “They want--your father,” she croaks.

Monty looks over his shoulder at the men, now with a new target. They’ve wrapped their arms around Jasper and are carting him backwards towards their wagon. “He’s dead!” Monty shouts at them. “Was on a plane when the power went out! Leave Jasper--”

“Insubordinate,” the man in the front snaps. “Useless! What are we supposed to tell our superior?”

“Monty!” Jasper shouts.

All of this is happening way too quickly. Monty’s brain is moving in fragmented scenes. The smell of blood. The sound of a gate slamming shut. The whinny of a horse. The world is silent soon after and Monty’s mind is still in overdrive. People have gathered. Jasper is gone, in the back of one of the Militia’s carts, his shouting distant and fading with every step.

“Mom,” Monty croaks. One problem at a time. He works step by step. “What happened? What’s going on?”

“Take this,” Hannah rasps, thrusting something into Monty’s hand and wrapping his fingers around it. “Maybe you… can understand.”

“ _Mom_ ,” he pleads.

“Your father’s journals are under my bed,” she carries on rapidly, breathlessly, as though she’s running out of time, and Monty’s fighting off tears. “Find the light, Monty,” she whispers. “I know you can.”

And like that, the life from his mother’s eyes is gone. A sob climbs up his throat and then he’s holding this--this fucking pendant, ugly and round, and not even Jasper is here anymore.

His entire life, Monty has been hidden away in this settlement. Small, quiet. They traveled out of the city when he was young and the power refused to return and the took up base here with people they trusted.

He remembers the first time a Militia man arrived, wearing navy and gold, demanding everyone turn in their guns, demanding everyone to pay attention to a new monster. A man named Pike had ascended to power in their area and he was in charge. Every year, Militiamen would come and collect items. Vegetables, mostly. Sometimes gunpowder. The fear that lingered when they were around was heavy, but they generally left their small space alone.

“I don’t understand,” Monty cries to no one in particular. They’ve always been off the radar, unimportant. What changed?

* * *

Twenty-four hours later, Monty’s life is immensely different than it was. He has a small list of things that he knows.

The first is that his mother is dead. She’s given him the most hideous pendant, shaped like a teardrop with a small notch in the center. He has no fucking idea what it does, and quite frankly, he doesn’t care. He hates it, but he wears it around his neck because it reminds him of her.

The second thing is that Jasper is gone. His only friend, his _best_ friend since the world hit reset is missing, simply because he challenged a Militiaman while Monty crouched to tend to his dying mother. Jasper’s been locked up for defending him. Monty has to find him and set him free.

The third is that he can’t stay here. He digs all three of his father’s journals out from where his mother said they were, loads them into his bag, packs it full of other small necessities, and says goodbye to the concerned townsfolk who linger. After his mother is cremated like she wanted, there’s not much to leave behind.

He’s a decent enough tracker and the roads are labeled well enough that he can start following out the team of Militiamen that was just here. There’s no time for mourning. His mother is gone, and they’ve always been in the business of staying alive.

* * *

The first night is the loneliest. Monty fights his tears where he sets up camp and cracks open the journal labeled with a 1. He doesn’t understand it.

Well, no, he understands parts of it. His father’s handwriting is legible, at least, and he knows basic maths and sciences, but it’s talking about things he doesn’t understand. Code doesn't make sense to him, he's grown up in a world without it.

He buries himself in his sleeping bag after the fire is out and cries himself to sleep.

The second night isn’t much better. At least he remembered to bring something to tinker with. He spins gears in a contraption until his fingertips are numb.

The third, he meets Miller.

Monty arrives at a waterfall and startles at the sight of a man there, tending to his bow. Monty tenses at once, ducking behind an old wall of bricks and righting himself. It’s been a few days since he’s really run into anyone, sometimes he'll pass carriages and horses but _people alone_ are much more rare, and the sight of another person throws him off. He stares from behind the brick of walls, looking for anything to give him a clue as to who this person is, finding nothing.

Monty shifts a step forward when the man turns, a charming smile on his face and says, “You know, most people just say good morning.”

An unexpected laugh crawls out of Monty. He steps into the open. “I was just, um.” He gestures to his water bottle. The man tips his head to the side. “Good morning,” Monty says.

“Good morning,” the man echoes.

To be fair, he doesn’t learn his name until a few days later. That’s their only interaction for the time being. Monty tips his head in thanks for letting him pass, the man smiles back, they both go about their own lives.

Monty makes a better attempt to cover his own tracks after that. Even though they rarely left their settlement, Monty’s mother taught him to be wary of strangers. Even beautiful men with cutting smiles. _Especially_ beautiful men with cutting smiles. Monty's prepared for handling strangers if he has to, though he doesn't quite want to think about that.

The fourth night, the pendant lights up.

Monty’s hidden himself in an old home along one of the roads that he’s been traveling by. He’s trying to understand more of his father’s journals, sitting in the middle of an old living room, fiddling with the stupid thing his mom gave him, when it starts to hum.

Monty narrows his eyes at the pendant when the room flickers. He drops it, frightened, and the room is dark again save his torch.

 _Impossible_ , he thinks. His second thought is, _that man definitely poisoned the water_. Followed by, _I’m hallucinating_. So he picks up the pendant again, gets back to reading, and once more, the room flickers.

With light.

Old lamps all throughout the room begin to glow, first slowly but then as though they had never turned off in the first place. Monty leaps to his feet, scanning the area in confusion. He holds the pendant tight in his hand and steps toward one of the lights, finding it brighter than it was a moment ago. The pendant is still humming.

“No fucking way.”

As Monty reaches out for the light, trying to convince himself that this is real, everything snaps off again. He glances down at the pendant once more, finding it’s returned to the state it was in before. Quiet, sleeping, like the rest of the power in the world.

He shakes his head, but he doesn’t sleep.

Monty spends the rest of the night devouring his father’s journals, trying to make more sense of them, trying to get the pendant to bring back some light. The second time it comes back on, it’s an accident. The third, he’s figured out how to make it work on command. The fourth time, Monty’s convinced he isn’t dreaming.

* * *

No one really knows how or why the power went out. There were theories that Monty had heard passed around the campfire some nights by the older folk who lived in his settlement, but he hadn’t known what to make of them. Theories were great, but Monty liked facts. He liked sure-possibility. Speculating about things that they never had the means to actually understand felt hopeless, so he didn’t like to do it.

But after reading through his father’s notes, after the pendant humming with life, he might understand a bit more now.

 _Find the light_ , his mother had said.

He falls asleep on the fifth night dreaming of his television. He wakes up with a knife pressed to his throat.

Monty, for all he’s worth, is not good at combat. He gasps, tries pushing away the stranger, but the press of the knife is more insistent.

“Ah, ah,” the man says, a sneer in his voice. Whoever he is, he smells. There’s another man here too, just as pale and greasy as the one with his knife against Monty’s throat, rifling through Monty’s bag. “We’re just looking to have a good time,” the man says. “Anything you can help us with?”

“No!” Monty gasps. He thought his campsite was hidden enough that no one would bother him. “I’m--alone!”

“We know,” the man says. “Such an easy target, a boy like--”

The man never gets to finish because suddenly he’s choking, coughing, falling backwards and clutching his own throat. The other man who’s there, still digging through Monty’s bag, looks up with a frown. Monty shoves himself backwards desperately as the man strides for him, stalking forward.

“What did you do?” the other snaps. “What did you _do!_ ”

There’s the sound of a whirr, a thunk, and then Monty sees what made the first man go down. An arrow. The second joins the first on the ground and then Monty’s alone again. The gagging of the men, arrows in their throats, makes him nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Monty hears. He leaps to his feet and finds the man from the waterfall a few days ago with his hands up. “I heard the scuffle,” he says. Monty’s still on his feet, the sound of the men dying is too loud, and Monty’s going to puke. He’s going to puke. “You’re bleeding,” the man notes.

Monty throws up seconds later.

* * *

The man, finally introducing himself as Miller, helps Monty clean up all of his things before guiding him away from the mess that was left. Miller takes Monty to his own campsite and gets him settled, patching up the cut on his neck with delicate fingers and few words.

“Have you been following me?” Monty finally rasps.

Miller laughs. “You’re cute, but not that cute.” Monty feels his face heat up while Miller tapes off the bandage. “I’m heading to Chicago,” he says.

“Nearest Militia city,” Monty notes. “Me too.”

Miller arches an eyebrow, leaning back. “Well that would explain why we’re on the same route.” He pauses, assessing Monty carefully. “Are you looking to join?”

Monty hesitates. Not knowing other people’s stance can be hard, and opinions about whether or not the Militia are good or not can get intense. But he’s always been an honest man. “No. Absolutely not. My friend was taken by them, I’m going to try and get him out.”

“Ah. I see.” Miller leans back on his hands. “I have trade work there,” he says. “I’m sorry about your friend.” Monty shakes his head, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Long couple of days?”

“It’s been a quick turnaround,” Monty tells him, voice small. Miller seems to realize that he’s tired, that Monty’s at the end of the rope, and doesn’t push. Monty’s not expecting himself to say anything else, but it’s been _days_ without talking to a decent person and he’s exhausted.

Words pour out of him quickly. How he’d been on the field with his best friend, how his mother was shot, how his friend was taken, how the only thing he knew how to do was keep moving forward because _nothing was making sense_. Miller listens calmly, nodding, offering Monty water halfway into the story and an old cloth when he starts to tear up.

“I’m sorry,” Miller finally says once Monty runs out of words.

Monty reaches up to his chest, touching the pendant he’s wearing through his shirt, and sniffles. “I didn’t mean to unload on you.”

“It’s okay,” Miller tells him. “That’s a lot.” Monty sniffs another time, shrugging a bit. They’re both quiet for a long time before Miller says, “We could travel together? To Chicago? If you’d like.”

A laugh climbs out of Monty but it feels hollow and empty. “Are you going to try to murder me in my sleep?” he asks.

Miller smiles, less cutting than before and more sincere, genuine, and shakes his head. “Definitely not.”

“Then I’d like that.”

* * *

“I need to know more about you,” Monty says sometime later. Miller’s been leading the way and Monty’s only sort of been keeping an eye out and suddenly his anxiety is getting the worst of him and he’s sure he’s being led to his death. “So I can make you a real person in my head,” he carries on as Miller slows. “And trust you.”

From what Monty can tell, Miller’s a perfectly normal person. He watches carefully when Miller interacts with others that they pass on the trails, looking for signs of anger or aggression or secrets, but finds nothing. Miller always goes for the groups with kids, perhaps sensing them as something more safe, and generally stays away from those who wander alone. He’s always really friendly with the kids too, and Monty knows that how people interact with children is very telling about who they are as a person.

Miller’s also really logical. It’s clear in the small trades that he makes with those people that they pass, or how he lays out their route for the next day as they move forward.

He just… doesn’t talk much. And Monty needs to _know_.

“I saved your life,” Miller counters. “Is that not enough?”

Monty frowns at him. It’s a low blow. “Humor me,” he almost pleads. The more time Monty crafts Miller into a real person into his head, the less likely Monty is to worry about this man--this _stranger_ who took out _two other strangers--_ killing him as well. “Tell me about yourself.”

Miller narrows his eyes a bit. “I’m 25,” he says. “I like silence.” Monty huffs. “I like to think of myself as a freelancer. I travel a lot for work. Don’t really like to stay put. Anything else?”

“Yes. Tell me about your family.”

They start trekking again, back to full speed, and Miller shrugs.

“It’s just me and my dad,” he says. “Mom died a little after the lights went out.” He gets quiet for a long time after that, and Monty wonders if that’s just Miller not wanting to unload on him. But finally, he gets his thoughts together. “She wasn’t built for the way the world was changing,” he murmurs. “People acting like they have the right to take charge.”

“Militia,” Monty agrees softly. “We were far enough away it never really affected us.”

“I grew up in Baltimore,” Miller tells him, shaking his head. “Fights fucking everywhere. Loitering. Thefts.” He shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed. “It was hard. She was somewhere better.”

Monty hesitates. “Did you ever get out of the city?”

“When I was older,” Miller says with a nod. “First chance I had.”

“And your dad?”

Miller tenses. “He’s okay.” His voice gets softer as he adds, “Most important person in the world to me.” Yeah, this is what Monty wanted. This gentle side of the sharp man he met. “Life’s been hard on him. He’s not as young as he used to be. And after mom…” Miller trails off, shaking his head. “I have to take care of him.”

“Do you miss him when you go away?” Monty asks. “On your travels?”

“So fucking much.” Miller lets out a long breath. “He’s accident prone. An old…” he trails off. “He’s an old police officer. Always feels like he’s looking for trouble.”

Monty isn’t sure how to ask his next question, but he decides to do it anyway. “How’s he feel about Pike’s Militia?”

“He hates them,” Miller says, voice low. Miller shakes his head. “He really fucking hates them.”

Monty hesitates again. “And you?”

“Like father like son,” Miller mutters.

* * *

They’re a day into being traveling partners when they reach their first checkpoint. It’s a great place for trades, to stock up more on supplies, and to rest. The only problem is that the place is crawling with Militia.

After paying for some dried meat for the journey in one of the various tents that’s scattered around, Monty rejoins Miller on the outskirts of the tent city where he’s setting up their sleeping arrangement.

“Did we have to be so close?” Monty murmurs, eyes cast toward a nearby group of Militiamen. They’re scattered throughout the place but there's a group of men that'll be sleeping just a few dozen yards away from them. “It makes me nervous.”

Miller finishes the fire he was working on. “Better to stay close than to hide,” he says. “Makes us seem suspicious. You hiding something, Monty?”

He scoffs. “No,” he lies. The pendant feels heavy on his chest. “But--”

“No buts,” Miller cuts him off. “They’ll leave us alone if we leave them alone.” Monty lowers himself down into the spot beside Miller with a frown. “Look,” he says, gesturing. “They just got in. Probably a long journey, by the looks of them. Dirty as hell. Yawning.” Miller points toward a front tent. “They didn’t even get the pegs set up correctly they’re that exhausted. They’ll sleep through the night. Leave us alone. All they care about is themselves.”

Monty turns his gaze to Miller. “You seem to know a lot.”

“It’s all about paying attention.” He returns to the fire he was working on. “I know why I don’t like Milita,” Miller says. “But why don’t you?”

 _Because they’re the scum of the earth_ , Monty thinks. “They killed my mother,” he says simply. “And kidnapped my best friend.” Miller nods. That makes sense. But there’s more to it. “They make people afraid,” Monty carries on. “I’ve never met a Militiaman who was kind, who cared. They would just instill fear in everyone around them all the time and that’s--it’s exhausting.”

“What do you mean?”

Monty sighs. “When I was younger, I guess right when they were starting out, they came to our town and just… stayed. For months.” Monty shakes his head. “They did raids. They stole food. They were just… God, bullies isn’t a strong enough word. They were just there to make us afraid. To enforce Pike’s new rule over the place.” Monty shakes his head. “Every time they came back for--fucking whatever, tax collection or inspections, everyone was just afraid. All the time. That they’d snap and beat someone to death like they had before. That they were collecting information to use against us. That they were going to lock us up, take away our friends, our families.”

It happened anyway, Monty realizes. They took away his mother, they took away his friend.

Miller looks out toward the men. “They can’t all be awful,” he says. “There has to be some good ones.”

“Doesn’t matter if there are some good ones if the whole system is corrupt,” Monty says. He watches two of the men laughing, one of them unbuttoning his shirt to show the other a new marking he has right over his heart. That’s what they do, the Militia. On their right wrist is a P, courtesy of a branding process everyone who joins the Militia has to go through to represent that they work for Pike. It's for easy identification and supposedly shows their dedication to the cause. Monty’s only heard stories about the hot iron press, the agony and pain that follow. On their inner chest is their ranking done by the same system, burns and scars, another branding iron. “They have to have people speaking up,” Monty says. “Against how unfair it is. Or it’s just always going to be like this.”

“There are,” Miller says. “People,” he elaborates. “Who speak up against Pike.”

Monty turns to him. “How would you know that?”

“Because they string them up in Chicago for everyone to see,” Miller says. It takes Monty a moment to realize what he means. “Must be hard,” Miller says. “Finding the balance.”

“Or you could just leave the Militia,” Monty mutters.

“How much do you actually know about Pike’s men?” Miller asks.

“Other than the fact they suck?” Monty wonders. “Not much, I guess.”

“Once you’re in the Militia you’re in it for life,” Miller says. “Few and far between have actually gotten away. Even if you want to leave--most people know too much. So they’re strung up too.” He shakes his head. “It’s messy. It’s never as simple as just… leaving. Or speaking out.” Miller looks up at the men inspecting one another’s new rankings. “I know people in the Militia,” he says slowly, almost reluctantly. It must be how he knows so much. Monty can still remember the day one of his neighbors packed up and willingly went away to join the Militia. Miller grew up in a city, of course he’s bound to know some people like that. “They’re not all bad,” he says, but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

Monty speaks before he can stop himself, “I’m just not sure that I agree.”

* * *

Monty doesn’t trust Miller right away, but it’s been a hard few days and it doesn’t take long for him to feel comfortable with his new travel companion. Especially not as Miller opens up a bit. It helps that as Monty tinkers at night, screwing around with gears or whatever old scraps he can get his hands on, Miller at least seems fascinated enough that they're not completely uninvolved.

“What is it?” he asks at one point.

Monty always seems to be tinkering with something. “Nothing,” Monty admits. “Just calms my nerves, I guess.” Monty shrugs. “I’d like to make something one day,” he says. “Inventing stuff kind of runs in my family.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Back before the Blackout,” Monty says with a nod. A few more days into it, Monty even opens up enough with Miller that he admits he’s not just going to Chicago to find Jasper. “I have these journals,” Monty tells him. “From my father. I’m trying to decode them. Make sense of them, mostly.”

They’re at a new campsite, the fire crackling between them. Miller’s insanely beautiful in the firelight, the shadows making his eyelashes look longer than normal. Monty knows it’s dangerous to feel this way about a near stranger.

“You think being in Chicago will help? Is your father there?”

Monty shakes his head. “He’s been dead for a long time,” he says. “Right when all of this started.” Miller nods, his eyes flickering downward. “But there’s mention of a place in Chicago in one of them, I think it could help me understand.”

“What are the journals about?” Miller asks.

Monty shakes his head again. “I’m not sure,” he admits. He has an idea, of course, something to do with the heavy pendant on his neck, but he can’t voice that much yet. Miller’s still mostly a stranger, even if he did save Monty’s life. “It’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Again, Miller doesn’t push, which is nice. But Monty almost wants someone to bounce ideas around with. Jasper would be ideal, but because he’d been thrown in a buggy and Monty’s been walking, they’re probably already in Chicago. They might’ve been there for days. Monty knows very little about _traveling_. God only knows what the Militiamen have been doing to him.

Another day into it, Monty wakes up with a stomach ache so awful that he can’t breathe. He spends most of the morning puking, Miller a few steps away looking sad.

“Did you purify your water from the river?” he asks, and it's a stupid mistake but Monty knows that he didn’t. He climbs back into bed, Miller rests a cool rag on his forehead, crushes up some medicine for Monty to take, and lets Monty slip back to sleep.

Somewhere in-between his haze, Monty wonders if he’s not meant to have grand adventures like this. He’s always dreamt of it, running away and starting over, but maybe he doesn’t know enough. Maybe he’s not ready.

Miller makes him get back in bed, digging a ditch just a few steps away for Monty to get sick in, and then Monty’s in and out of sleep for the next couple of hours. At one point he wakes up to Miller resting a cool strip of cloth on his forehead. Another time Monty wakes up to drink water--actual purified water. Later he wakes up to the sound of crackling fire.

It takes him a moment to figure out what’s happening, and soon Monty hones in on Miller sitting nearby. Monty clears his throat, trying to find his voice, but it takes him a few times.

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me,” Monty rasps into the darkness. He sounds a little weepy. This trip is not what he’d expected it to be--not that he really expected it to be much. His mother is dead and his best friend is gone and finding this man, this kind and wonderful man, is not enough to make up for all of the dark that’s lingering in his life. “You can go.”

“You’re an idiot,” Miller murmurs. He has a book in his hands and he places his finger between the pages before looking up at Monty. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You barely know me.”

“I know you enough that your mother just died and you’re still strong enough to make a trek across the country to find your best friend,” Miller answers. He looks back down at his book. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Monty swallows his groan. His stomach is still in knots but at least his head is a little more clear. “Why?” he finally asks.

Miller looks at him for a moment before shaking his head. “There doesn’t have to be a why,” he answers. “You're a good guy, Monty. That’s enough.”

 _It’s not_ , Monty thinks hopelessly. He’s not enough. He’s never been enough. Not in his small settlement, not for his mom, maybe not even for Jasper. If he can’t get Jasper out then what’s the point? Tears well up in his eyes and Monty drops his head backwards against his shitty make-shift pillow. He tries to stop them before they come but he’s crying anyway, and soon Miller’s there beside him and Monty feels like the biggest fucking fool.

“I’m sorry,” he cries. “I’m--God. _Fuck_.”

“Hey, hey,” Miller’s there, gently brushing the hair from Monty’s face. “It’s okay.”

“I’m a--you don’t even _know_ me,” Monty says again, trying to fight his tears. Miller wipes his thumb under Monty’s eye to catch a tear. “I’m a mess,” he croaks.

“Yeah,” Miller murmurs. “You are.” Monty blinks, letting his tears fall, while Miller readjusts himself to sit on the ground. “You just lost your mom,” he says softly. “No one’s expected to be right after that.” He removes the wet cloth and dabs at Monty’s forehead with a dry one. “And while that happened your best friend was taken. Monty. That’s _hard_.”

Monty’s crying again. “I just wish…” he trails off, but Miller nods anyway. Why is this always so hard? Why did the lights have to go out in the first place?

“I know,” Miller says softly. “I know.” Miller gets him some more water, gives him another cool rag, and sits on the ground by Monty’s side. They’re both quiet for a long time, Monty blinking away his tears, Miller maybe listening to the rustling of the leaves in the wind. “I was in Washington when the lights went out,” Miller says.

“The state?” Monty asks.

“No, DC.” The Old Capitol, the one Monty’s read about in books. He'd never actually gotten to go. Monty remembers back to Miller mentioning he was from Baltimore, and wonders how far apart they are. Again, he’s never been much of a traveler. “My dad took me for the day,” he says, his voice soft. “Just the two of us. We didn’t get to do a lot together since he got promoted at the station, or whatever. Went around and looked at all the monuments, went through some of the museums.” Miller lets out a long breath. “It was the best day I’d had in a long time. I just never got to see him anymore,” Miller carried on. “And he went out of his way to take me to DC. Which--I don’t know how much you know about Maryland--”

“Sometimes I barely even remember it was a state,” Monty admits. Old names linger, but with Pike in charge things have slowly shifted.

“Well--yeah. We were pretty close to DC. Being close to the Capitol, it made it so DC wasn’t a big deal. People all over the world traveled to see it but I could drive an hour and be there like it was nothing.” Miller’s quiet again. “We left real early, before the sun was up. Dad let me sleep most of the ride. Got a nice spot near the Washington Monument--the ah… the tall one? It’s just like--”

“A tall rectangle?”

“Essentially. You used to be able to go up inside of it. Look out from the top.” Miller gazes at the fire as he talks, but Monty can’t look away from him. “We got tickets. We went up. It was--God, it was such a good _day_.”

Again, they fall silent. “But then the lights went out,” Monty says.

Miller nods. “Yeah.” Another pause. “We’d gotten on the metro--there were these trains under the city? We’d ridden the metro all the way over to the zoo. And they close kind of early there so after that we just went walking around. Sun started to set, we knew we needed to get back.”

Monty realizes where this is going. “Were you on the train?” he asks. “When it went black?”

The silence stretches on for a long time.

“We just kept waiting for it to come back on,” Miller murmurs, shaking his head. “People pulled out their phones and started to panic. Dad took charge though--he always does shit like that. But it was so _dark_ down there. No cell phones, no emergency lights, no moon or stars. Just pitch fucking black. The kind of darkness that swallows you whole.”

“Dad never let go of my hand,” Miller carries on, “but people were afraid. People who are afraid do dangerous things. There was so much _fear_ down there. I don’t know. Someone had a lighter--made a makeshift torch. We got out from underground and everything was still…” he exhales. “To go from a world full of wonder to one where even the moon isn’t bright enough all in one day?” Miller asks. “I swore I’d never be afraid like that again.”

Monty curls on his side a bit, his eyes still on Miller. “Have you been?”

“Sometimes you can’t help it,” he admits. “Those days it took us to get home afterwards--Monty, it was terrifying. Fires were burning everywhere. People getting handsy. Looters stealing whatever because they thought the power would come back…” he trails off. “I was eight,” he says, voice quiet. “I still remember every fucking second of it.”

Monty isn’t sure what to say. “It’s made you who you are,” he settles with.

Miller lets out a breath of a laugh. “I guess so.”

“I was six,” Monty tells him. “Watching cartoons. I lived in New York state. A ways away from the city. Enough that my dad could get to work, but not close enough to really be affected by city life.” There’s a lull as Monty’s stomach turns, but he isn’t sure it’s from the bad water. “My dad was on a plane,” he says, surprised at how thick his voice is. It’s been years, and the loss of his father still feels fresh. Nearly as fresh as his mother’s. “I don’t know where it was,” Monty says. “Where it was coming from. Just that he was supposed to be coming home.”

“Shit,” Miller murmurs.

“Another… two hours, maybe, he would’ve made it.”

It’s now that Monty feels the pendant cold against his chest. Maybe if his father was still here, he’d know _why_ the pendant can bring back the power. Maybe if his father was still here, there’d be light _everywhere_ and not just in the small pocket around them. Maybe if his father was still here his mother wouldn’t be dead, and Jasper wouldn’t be gone, and Monty wouldn’t be on the cold ground with cramps from drinking dirty water.

“What’s your dad doing now?” Monty asks, trying not to think about his own father.

Miller shrugs. “Worrying, probably.”

“You make him worry?” Monty wonders.

“Mm. It’s complicated.” Miller turns to look at Monty. “Instead of hiding behind him like I used to,” Miller says, “I just walk toward whatever it is that scares me. So, yeah. I guess that makes him worry. But it’s easier to protect us.”

“Noble of you,” Monty murmurs.

“Stupid of me,” Miller whispers back. “Get some sleep.” Monty sighs, knowing the conversation is over, and curls further into himself. “I’m sorry about your parents,” he says as the fires down down.

Monty doesn’t say anything back.

In the morning, Miller’s gone. But only for a bit.

He returns soon after Monty wakes with more water and something to eat. He won’t look Monty in the eye when he asks, “Feeling better?”

Monty nods. “I am.” He accepts the small snack that Miller extends to him. “Are you okay?”

Miller looks up briefly before nodding. “I’m fine,” he says. Monty knows it’s a lie. “Ready when you are.”

* * *

Monty isn’t sure why he assumed that Miller’s unstoppable and great and unable to get hurt in any way. It must be because Miller’s saved his life, a few times now it seems, and Monty feels like he’s fumbling in the dark.

Nearly a week after the whole water incident, Monty wakes up to the sound of a struggle.

There’s a man at their campsite that Monty doesn’t recognize, not that he expects to, who has a grip on Miller. There’s fear in Miller’s eyes and whoever the man is, large and blond and oafish, is talking so lowly that Monty can only just make out what he’s saying.

“So I’m going to kill you,” the man growls into Miller’s ear. His grip is around Miller’s neck, unrelenting. “And then I’m going to take that sweet, sweet boy over there, and--” Miller struggles, enough that the it’s at least difficult for the new stranger to get in another word.

“ _No_ ,” Miller gasps. He tries to get his feet on the ground so he can get more traction, tries reaching out for his bow just a few steps away, but it’s not working. “Dax-- _please!_ ”

“Hey!” Monty shouts. It crawls out of him before he knows what he’s doing. Dax releases his grip on Miller and then Miller’s heaving for air, trying to suck in as much air as he can. He rolls onto his hands and knees and struggles, but Monty can’t worry about him when Dax’s eyes are now focused. “Hi,” Monty says.

Dax smiles. “Hello.”

Monty has to think quickly. “I see you know Miller.”

“You’re not great at choosing travel partners,” Dax says, slowly striding toward him. He's donned in navy, and the gold buttons on his shirt are reminiscent of the Militia. Maybe he's one of them. “You see, Miller here…” he trails off, shaking his head. “He’s in a fuckton of trouble.”

Monty managed to jump to his feet in the middle of Dax and Miller’s scuffle, but now he’s lowering himself back down to grab his bag. Jasper might not be with him now but he taught Monty a lot about chemistry, and Monty’s not about to die tonight. Again, his mother always taught him to be weary of strangers.

“That’s super unfortunate,” Monty says. “What’d he do?”

“ _No_ ,” Miller chokes. It's now that Monty realizes Miller's bow isn't just on the ground--it's snapped. Dax must've broken it. Miller doesn't have his weapon.

“Doesn’t quite matter, I guess,” Dax says. “He’s not really who I’m here for.” Monty isn’t even as surprised as he should be. Ever since Pike’s Militia came into his settlement, things have been weird. Why shouldn’t some random asshole be here for him? This is how the world works outside of small towns, apparently. Still, Dax stalks toward him. “We can make this easy and you can come with me,” he says. “Or really, really difficult.”

“I like easy,” Monty says. Besides, Dax is huge. There's no way Monty's going to escape this without using logic as opposed to strength. “I’ll go with you.”

“ _Monty_ ,” Miller pleads.

“It can’t be _that_ easy,” Dax says. He glances over at Miller who’s still trying to right himself, still trying to breathe. The sound of his coughing and gasping fills the air. “What’s the catch?”

“Leave him here,” Monty says.

Dax considers it before laughing. “They’ll find him soon enough anyway.”

Dax’s words echo in Monty’s head as they walk away from the campsite. _It can’t be_ that _easy_. But suddenly he’s walking away from Miller with his hands behind his back. Before the go Dax turns and with a swift kick, his boot makes contact with Miller’s face. There’s an _oof,_ the sound of gravel crunching, and then nothing. They walk about half an hour in the moonlight, in silence, before Monty figures out how to make it work.

“Shit,” he exclaims.

Dax is on alert at once. “What?”

“I think I left my journal!” he cries out. He turns, looking up at the man. "Let me look for it." Dax laughs, and Monty’s annoyed that he’s so lax about this entire thing. But Dax could easily overpower Monty, so that must be where this false confidence comes in. Good thing Monty’s strong in other ways. “You don't understand how important it is," he says.

“No way, kid,” Dax says.

"You don't understand," he says again. And because he needs this to work he says, "I can make the lights turn on."

Dax pauses, curiosity on his face. "They said it might be possible," he murmurs. "But..."

Monty doesn't have time to understand what that comment might mean. He just needs the binds from off of his wrists. "I'll show you. Just--I need the journal." Dax nods, looking both afraid and excited, and undoes Monty's ties. He drops himself to the ground and starts digging through his bag, knowing full well he doesn’t have a _journal_ , it's not the journal that makes the lights come back anyway, and that all of the things that are actually important to him are packed away safely. At the bottom of Monty’s bag is a small flask that he would never, ever drink out of. He tosses it easily to the side, making sure it catches Dax’s eye, before he continues rifling. “I know it's in here." 

Even with the tease of  _light_ , Dax stoops down to pick up the flask. 

“Oh, a party boy, are you?” Dax asks. Monty keeps digging. “How about a little celebration for the lights. What’ve you got? Moonshine?” Dax opens the flask and takes a long, hard swig without waiting for Monty to answer. “Vodka?”

Finally, Monty stops rifling through his bag. “Poison, actually,” he answers.

Jasper liked to fuck around with things he shouldn’t, and Monty’s mother had instilled a fear of strangers in him early. No _way_ was he leaving his small settlement without _something_. It took a while to remember he had it, but whatever. He hasn't needed it before now anyway.

Dax is the one struggling after that, gasping, clutching his neck like someone has wound their fingers around him and squeezed like he’d done to Miller.

And then he’s dead.

* * *

After puking in the trees (Monty doesn’t want to _ever_ get used to his recent proximity to dead bodies), digging through his bag for his toothbrush, and gargling water and mint for like, five minutes, he sprints back the direction he came. Monty runs straight into Miller.

They physically collide, rounding a turn, and both end up on the ground with Monty on top.

“You’re okay!” Monty nearly shouts, wrapping himself around Miller like they _didn’t_ just meet a few weeks ago. Miller chokes out a laugh before pulling back, assessing Monty in the light that the moon gives off. “I’m okay!” Monty tells him.

“Did he hurt you?” Miller rasps. His voice is thick, probably from Dax and his awful, murderous hands, and his forehead is badly bleeding just above his eyebrow, probably from that kick that sounded like it hurt. “Where is he?”

“He’s dead, I’m okay, he didn’t hurt me. Let me fix your cut.”

Miller pulls back a bit more and in the silence, Monty rights himself so he’s not physically on top of him anymore, reaching around for his bag to get out something to stop Miller from bleeding. “He’s dead?” Miller asks.

Monty nods. “I um.” He clears his throat, eyes focused on the supplies he’s pulling out. He doesn’t want to be this person. He knows that this world has turned so many people hard, and he doesn’t want that. “Poison,” he finally says.

They’re still close, so Miller can easily reach up and cup his cheek. “You had poison this whole time?” Miller looks surprised, but impressed. “Jesus, Monty. Are you okay?”

“I threw up,” he admits.

Miller laughs this time, leaning in a touch closer and wincing as Monty starts dabbing at his wound. “That sounds about right.” And that’s where they stay, close and closer still, the moonlight the only thing between them as Monty works silently. He’s no doctor, and the cut definitely needs stitches. Maybe they can find someone in Chicago. “You shouldn’t have gone with him,” Miller says when Monty wraps up his work, taping together the cut as best he can, and Monty swears Miller sounds a little wrecked. “He’s dangerous.”

“Apparently so are you,” Monty counters.

“And you,” Miller tosses back. The wind rustles the trees and Miller startles. “We should make camp,” he says. “Get some more sleep before sunrise.” He pushes himself to his feet and helps Monty stand too. They start walking a bit, off the beaten path, before Miller turns back to him. “I’m sorry,” he says. “About--fuck.”

“It’s not your fault,” Monty says.

“No, it’s entirely my fault,” Miller responds. “I fell asleep during watch. And Monty I…” he trails off. “There might be people looking for me.”

“I kind of figured.” He shakes his head, looking more distraught than Monty’s seen him. This is the most emotion Monty’s seen Miller show and he looks wrecked. "Is it Militia?" Monty asks. 

"Maybe," Miller rasps. Monty wants to know why, but now doesn't seem like the right time to ask. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I just--”

“It’s okay,” Monty cuts him off. He reaches out, his hand on Miller’s arm to keep him from going too far. “You saved my life. Twice, Miller. I’m okay. I always…” he trails off, and Miller looks up at him. “I knew the world was cruel,” he says. “And you… haven’t been. Not to me.” Miller looks up at him then, eyes wide, lips parted. “So it’s okay,” Monty says softly.

“You’re really just that good,” Miller murmurs, “aren’t you?” He shakes his head a little, his voice softer when he adds, “Too good for me.”

“Hardly,” Monty exhales. “It feels like the opposite.”

“No way,” Miller whispers.

Miller’s so close now, just a breath away, and for once Monty feels something other than turbulence. Since his mom died, since Jasper, it's just been _turbulence._ Everything moving forward in ways that make him ache. His stomach is twisting in a different way, his heart feels light, and it’s all because of this man. Miller’s been so good to him and Monty isn’t sure he deserves it, but _God_ he wants to.

So he presses himself onto his toes and kisses him.

Miller leans in, kissing him back, and Monty wants this moment to stretch on for forever. He doesn’t feel dark anymore, instead he feels like light. Something brighter than sunshine, warmer than a fire. It snakes through his chest into his veins into his fingertips, beating in time with his heart.

“Wait,” Miller rasps. He pulls away, shaking his head. They’re both quiet for a moment, Monty’s mouth burning with the need for more. The air around them is too still. “You’re hurting,” Miller finally says.

“What?”

“From everything that’s happened to you,” Miller continues gently, his voice still scratchy. Monty wonders if he’s in pain--he _must_ be. “And that’s--it’s okay,” he says. “Really. But I don’t want to be…” he trails off, searching for words, but Monty understands. Miller doesn’t want to be some sort of coping method. He doesn’t want to be something Monty uses to fill the time. “I like you, Monty.”

Something inside of Monty’s chest won’t stop spinning. “Then kiss me,” he says.

Miller smiles, leaning in again, but only once. “I want to,” Miller whispers. His thumb brushes along Monty’s jaw. “But I want you to be sure.” Monty nods, and Miller tips his head to the side. “Monty…”

“I’m sure,” Monty exhales. “I’m sure. Miller, _please--_ ” Miller kisses him again, carefully, and Monty melts into it.

Despite not even having the slightest idea what it would be like, Monty feels like there’s electricity in his veins. They kiss like there’s fire lapping at their heels. They kiss like Chicago isn’t just a day away. They kiss like there isn’t blood on either of their hands. Like they’re not broken and exhausted and aching, like they’re not injured and weak and afraid. They kiss like they found each other at the right time, all of the stars aligning to make it right. They kiss and they kiss and they kiss and Miller finally pulls back, eyes dark.

“You need to sleep,” he murmurs. “You just--you keep pushing on. Which is admirable. Really.” Monty leans into Miller’s hand again, entranced at the feel of Miller playing with the ends of his hair by his neck. “But you’re going to exhaust yourself if you don’t get a good night of sleep.” He leans in, his nose bumping Monty’s. “We’re almost there.”

An unexpected laugh bubbles out of Monty and he’s surprised at the feel of it. It feels like so long since he’s laughed. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“So get some sleep,” Miller hums. “I’ll really keep watch this time. Okay?”

Monty presses himself on his toes for another kiss--just for good measure. “Okay.” Miller smiles and it feels like a rarity. “Thanks, Miller.”

Miller’s smile grows. “Nate,” he tells him. “My name’s Nate.”

“Thanks, Nate,” Monty corrects warmly.

* * *

Monty knows, deep down, that he shouldn’t trust Nate in the way that he does. It hasn’t been _that_ long since they met. It’s just that Monty’s trusting in nature, and he needs help if he wants to get his friend out of jail. He isn’t even entirely sure that he has a plan. He just needs Jasper back. And also Nate is incredibly too handsome, and saved Monty’s life a few times, and feels like the kind of person who should be trusted even if there are or are not people looking for him who may or may not be Militia.

Once he has Jasper, he can take him and disappear and the two of them can start over and figure out the pendant around his neck. Maybe Nate will come, too.

“I want to start over, you know,” Monty says, trying to broach the subject. Nate turns to him, an eyebrow arched. “After I get out Jasper,” he says. “I want to start my own settlement.”

Nate laughs, but not in a mocking sort of way. He’s been a lot lighter since last night, too. Even after the whole almost murder. The dark bruises on his neck stand out in the morning light, and Nate winces any time he has to swallow, but he’s still shining. Smiling and laughing like it’s something he’s meant to do. “Oh yeah? What do you know about running a settlement?” he asks.

“Not much,” Monty admits. “I mean, I’ve played Catan,” he jokes, getting Nate to laugh again while Monty’s nerves settle.

“That old game?” Nate asks.

“Board games are essential to survival,” Monty says. “But…” he trails off, gnawing the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t like the way my old town was run,” he says. “All we learned about was farming. Sustaining ourselves over the winter. Staying _safe_. There were classes for the kids,” Monty carries on, “but not variety. Not options. Not really.”

Nate slows a bit. “Yeah?”

“Some people like history,” Monty says. “Some people like art or medicine. Or…” dammit, “technology!”

Nate’s smile is back, slow and steady. “Do you like technology?”

“I _love_ technology!” Monty cheers. “I love--making things work. I love figuring out puzzles. I love--Nate, I love possibilities. And I never--at my old place, I never got a chance to realize that. I could only--fucking farm.”

Nate laughs again. “That’s…” he trails off, and for a moment Monty thinks he’s going to mock him. “I like that.” They’re both quiet in the space following, nothing but their footsteps dragging against the ground. “I like to read,” Nate says.

Now Monty laughs. “Oh, do you?”

“Yeah,” Nate says, a smile finding his face. “And I… I don’t have a lot of time for it.”

Monty arches an eyebrow. It seems like he’d have a lot of time, being someone who wanders and travels wherever he’s needed. Nights by the fire, or whatever. He was even reading the other night when Monty was sick. “No?”

“Not at home,” Nate says. “I can’t analyze it the way I’d like. Classics. English. You know what I mean?”

“Like, Shakespeare?” Monty asks.

“Yes, exactly. Orwell and Tolkien and Dickens.” Nate shakes his head. “I could do that,” he says. “Or teach. I like working with kids.”

“Wait,” Monty bursts. “You--you’d want to come?”

Nate seems nervous now. “I…”

“You should!”

“Monty…” He shifts on his feet, looking out across the horizon that they’re walking toward. “I don’t know,” he says. “That’s just a dream.”

“A dream?” Monty echoes. “No, I’m really going to do it, Nate.”

“Start a new settlement where people can do whatever the fuck they want?” he asks. Nate shakes his head. Monty feels himself deflating.

“You don’t think I can do it,” Monty says, realizing.

“I don’t…” Nate trails off, and Monty wants to get to Chicago. Now. He doesn’t have time for people who don’t believe in him. His mother spent her whole life telling Monty he couldn’t do this or that, and now he’s really starting. Off on his own. Fresh start, putting all the bad shit behind him. “It’s not that I don’t think you can do it,” Nate says, hurrying after him as Monty stalks away. “But who really has the means to start their own settlement out of nowhere? Monty--wait a second.” He rests his hand on Monty’s shoulder. “Just hear me out, okay?”

“You don’t think I can do it,” Monty says again. “And that’s fine, I’ll just prove you wrong.”

“ _Monty_ ,” Nate huffs. Monty stops pacing away. “You need people. You can’t do something like that alone.”

“I have people,” Monty says firmly. “I have Jasper. I have--” _you_ , he almost said. He almost said he had Nate. Monty ducks his head. Nate must’ve known where he was going with that, because he falls silent too. “You could come,” he says.

“I’d love to,” Nate tells him. “I really would. Who else is going to help you purify water?” It’s his attempt at a joke, but Monty knows there’s more to this moment. “But like I said…” he trails off. “People. The _means_.”

“What constitutes as the means to start over?” Monty asks. “Determination. Will. I have that.”

“Safety. Security,” Nate tosses back. “Man power.”

“ _I have that_ ,” Monty says again. And then--something stupid. “I’ll show you.”

Nate tries not to look too frustrated, Monty’ll give him that, but it slips through anyway. “How?” he asks.

“Come with me,” Monty says.

Nate’s confused, Monty knows that, but he follows anyway. It’s insanely stupid. It’s so fucking stupid. But Monty’s moving quickly now, making his way to the nearest home which has been abandoned over the years. The grass outside is overgrown and it’s not a surprise that no one’s around. The homes nearest the walking route are normally for squatters, for people just passing through. Most people have moved to real communities and settlements, not these long stretches of home. Once everything was looted from them, they were worthless.

It takes a few tries to push open the door but finally Monty gets into the room. There’s a scrabble of something running away, probably a stray cat or something, but other than that it’s clear this particular home’s been abandoned for a long time.

“What’s going on?” Nate asks. The confusion on his face has turned into something skeptical. “Monty.”

“Just--give me a second.” _Trust me like I trust you_ , he wants to say.

But Nate’s on his heels and, even though it’s early evening, the way the home is situated makes the room darker than it is outside. The floorboards groan beneath their feet and the dust in the air is thick, causing Nate to cough. He swats in front of his face as though clearing room for him to breathe before Monty finally stops searching.

The room they’re in is far enough away from the main road, and they most likely would’ve noticed someone traveling in the same space as them. They’re pretty safe, tucked away in this small cluttered backroom. Miraculously, Monty finds a small lamp, still plugged into the wall, utterly and completely useless. He holds his hand to the pendant on his chest and exhales, willing it to work, and then--

Nate gasps, or chokes, or something. It gets caught in his throat.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Nate finally manages. He reaches for the shining light like he doesn’t actually believe it, and Monty’s not sure he actually believes it either. “This isn’t real,” Nate says.

“It is,” Monty tells him.

“This isn’t real,” Nate repeats. His eyes are a little hazy, full of disbelief. He looks around the room, from the lightbulb to the new shadows being cast. “No fucking way.” He whips around to Monty. “How.”

“I don’t know,” Monty admits.

“ _How_ ,” Nate says again, striding toward him. “How do you--how?” He shakes his head. “How the fuck--”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Monty repeats. “It’s those journals I was telling you about,” Monty tells him. “I think my dad might’ve had something to do with the Blackout. Or maybe he just…” he trails off. “Maybe he was just determined to make things work even when they didn’t want to.” Nate’s looking at him now, eyes glowing from the light in the room, gazing at Monty like he’s this magical creature full of hope and possibility. “Nate--”

“I want to follow you,” he says firmly. It sounds like the only truth he’s ever spoken, no words more genuine than that. “Wherever you go,” he says. “Whatever it is you do. This new settlement--I want to be there.” He strides toward Monty, reaching out as though he’s going to touch his shoulder, before his hand falls. It’s almost as though Nate doesn’t think he’s worthy to touch Monty anymore. “I wanted to before,” he insists. “Minutes ago. When you were talking about it.”

“Nate,” Monty says gently.

“But it was just a _dream_ and this--this…” he trails off, a laugh in his voice as he looks around the room again. “This is a dream,” he exhales so softly Monty almost doesn’t hear him. “You could change things. Really make a difference…” he trails off, gazing around the light filled room. “With this,” Nate breathes. “I want to be there for that. Please, Monty.”

“I can do it, Nate,” Monty whispers back. “I can do this.”

Nate nods firmly. “I’ll help you however I can. If you’ll let me.”

Monty strides toward Nate and cups his cheeks between his hands, deliriously happy that this _dream_ they’re both talking about can become something real. Then they’re kissing, the entire world aglow between them.

* * *

Monty’s never been in a city as big as Chicago. He’s never been _anywhere_ as big as Chicago. Even the town closest his tiny village on the edge of nowhere was never this hopping. There are people absolutely everywhere, riding bikes, bustling past one another, not giving each other the time of day as they hurry past.

It’s all phenomenal. It’s nothing like his Chicago postcard that he has, left in an old lunch box in an abandoned car back at his home settlement, but it’s still phenomenal. Monty keeps getting stuck looking up, pausing in the streets like some lousy tourist.

“Keep close,” Nate murmurs, shouldering his way through group after group.

Monty’s tired of feeling like he doesn’t know what’s going on, tired of feeling like a stray dog just following Nate around, but that small bout of fear is growing larger inside of him as they carry on. They're in a new place where Monty doesn't know how things work. He has to trust that Nate _does_ know, that he's leading him somewhere safe. When their fingers brush Monty twines their hands together and instead of dropping it like Monty thinks he might, Nate just squeezes once.

“Where’re we going?” Monty asks.

The question is answered moments later when Nate tugs Monty into a decrepit looking hotel. To be fair, most of the city of Chicago looks to be decrepit. Even at a young age Monty remembers the fires that raged throughout his own hometown, the lack of firetrucks and sirens that followed, the fact that no one could put out the ones in the tallest of buildings that just had to burn to a crisp. Vines have crept up buildings in the meantime, and Chicago is not exempt from this.

“Stay behind me,” Nate says, finally dropping Monty’s hand as he saunters up to the front desk. There’s a woman behind it with her nose in a book who only looks up as they get closer. “Gina,” he greets.

“Miller,” she responds, an eyebrow arched. “You look like shit.”

Nate clears his throat. “Feel like it too.”

“Who was it?” she asks, gesturing toward his bruises.

“Doesn’t matter,” he answers.

“What are you doing here?”

“I need a room.”

Gina sets down her book. “You know that I don’t work with--”

“Enough,” he cuts her off. Nate glances over his shoulder at Monty. “That’s in the past.”

Gina looks over at Monty. “Oh is it?” she asks. Monty has a feeling he doesn’t know what they’re talking about, and an even bigger feeling that he shouldn’t ask. “Since when?”

Nate swallows. Winces. “I need a room,” he says again, and Monty’s surprised at the tone of his voice. It’s distant, almost afraid. He looks to Monty, signaling with his eyes that Monty should step away, and so Monty hurries a few steps away to study some painting on a nearby wall.

To be honest, the entire lobby is beautifully decorated. The architecture’s held over the years and the vintage feel that lingers makes Monty feel cozy. He tries to listen to Nate and Gina’s conversation but their voices drop so low Monty can’t make out any of the words. All he knows is Nate sounds angry, and so does Gina, and both of them keep glancing in Monty’s direction.

But soon enough Gina sighs, shaking her head, and asks, “One room or two?”

* * *

Monty isn’t sure if it’s the thrill of being in Chicago or the fact that the hotel they’re in just used a pulley system to get them up to the _twenty second floor_ of the building via an old elevator, but the second he and Nate get to their room he pins Nate against the door. There’s a laugh in Nate’s mouth but he kisses Monty back, smiling as he pulls Monty close.

“Don’t you want to see the view?” Nate manages after a second.

“Oh!” He pulls away in a rush and Nate laughs again, following after Monty who yanks open a door to find a small, cement balcony for him to step out on. “Oh my _God_ ,” Monty marvels.

It’s official. He was born in the wrong era. Fuck the Blackout. He could’ve had _this_. Sights from up high, elevator rides, _electricity_. There aren’t any words. He isn’t even sure what he’s looking at specifically, just more skyscrapers and the city alive below them and it’s amazing, it’s so amazing.

Nate slides his arms around Monty’s waist and props his chin up on Monty’s shoulder. Part of Monty is weary at how fast they’ve progressed from kissing to _affection_ , but part of him doesn’t mind. This is comforting.

“I’ve got something I have to go do,” Nate says gently. “You good to stay here?”

“I’ve got those journals to work on,” Monty says dismissively, unsure if he’s going to get anything done while gazing out at _this_. “Work things?” Monty wonders.

“Mm-hm.”

He turns to look up at Nate, eyebrows furrowed. “Wait. What is it you do again?”

Nate snatches a kiss. “I get things for people who need them.”

Monty kisses him again. “What kind of things?”

“You can’t let me retain some air of mystery?” Nate asks with a smile. Monty rolls his eyes but presses up to kiss Nate another time. He turns Monty in his arms before leaning in to kiss him again. “It’s okay if I leave for a bit?”

“You’re going to come back,” Monty wonders, “right?”

These kisses are so soft. “Mm-hm,” Nate hums again. “Unfortunately,” he murmurs, his mouth against Monty’s, “I kind of like you.” Monty thinks that it’s been a weird couple of weeks. He isn’t sure how he went from feeling so hopeless and alone to suddenly having this man that he actually trusts by his side. A man that he actually cares for. “I’ve been told that their hot water works,” Nate says as he steps away, grinning.

Monty laughs. “This is insane.” Nate heads back inside and Monty follows after him. “How’d you get us in this place?”

“I know the right people,” he answers, starting for his bag. He slings it over his shoulder before turning back to Monty. Nate pauses, actually _looking_ at Monty for a moment, before he drops his gaze. “Is this too much?” he asks.

Monty’s lips part. “Is what too much?”

Nate gestures widely. Then between them. “I haven’t…” Nate clears his throat, and Monty’s eyes flicker to his neck. Still bruised. Probably will be for days. “I know it's fast. And I haven’t had someone for a while,” Nate murmurs, looking conflicted. “I just want to make sure it’s not too much.”

“I didn’t realize I was yours to have,” Monty jokes, which is the worst thing to say because Nate’s face crumbles.

“That’s not what I--”

Monty rushes forward, grabbing his hands. “That was a joke,” he insists. “Sorry. I also haven’t had someone like this for a while.” He brushes his thumbs over Nate’s knuckles. “Multiple murder attempts brings people closer, I guess,” Monty manages. Nate smiles, but it feels like he’s somewhere else. “Nate,” Monty says firmly.

“Yeah?” he croaks.

“I kind of like you too,” Monty tells him.

Nate laughs then, his smile brighter and more genuine, and Monty feels the relief inside of him like a steady river. “Okay,” Nate says. “Okay. I really have to go.” He goes to tug away from Monty before he changes the way they’re standing, fingers wrapped around Monty’s wrists lightly. “I’ll see you in a bit. Don’t do anything stupid without me, okay?”

Monty grins. “No promises.”

* * *

It’s not that hard to not do anything stupid.

Monty digs out one of his father’s journals and tests out the water in the bathroom, amazed and overwhelmed that there really _is_ hot water, before making himself a bath. He’s been traveling for days, only scrubbing off a little in nearby rivers, and to fully immerse himself is so freaking relaxing. There are soaps on the side of the tub and Monty scrubs himself until the air smells sweet before climbing out and getting back to studying.

When Nate returns, Monty’ll see if they can start brainstorming how to get Jasper out.

His stomach grumbles but thankfully he still has some rations from his trip, so he munches on that as he rifles through his father’s notes. There’s mention of a man named Jaha who lives in the city and, after getting Jasper, Monty makes a plan to go and find him. He knows that people move around, especially in light of the Blackout, but hopefully this one held his ground. The more that Monty can learn about the pendant, the better.

Because they arrived in the city in late afternoon, a day later than planned too, night comes sooner than Monty expects. Even after years of darkness he’s still overwhelmed at just how quickly the sun can disappear. It’s different in the city. Windows all across the way are lit up with lanterns, reminding Monty of soft glowing light. It feels like a memory from before, like the power is still here somehow.

He’s almost thankful that there are no lamps left in his own room or he might do something stupid and fiddle with his pendant, just to see what would happen. It would be hard to explain away if an entire hotel in the middle of Chicago suddenly lit up without explanation.

Nate doesn’t bother knocking when he returns but Monty hears the door shut. He steps in from the balcony and pauses at the sight of Nate by the door. There’s something different about him but it takes Monty a moment to figure out what it is.

“Oh,” Monty exhales when he figures it out. “You got stitches.”

“Mm. I had to leave a message for a friend,” he says, unbuttoning his outer jacket. “The girl I left it with is a medic. She wouldn’t let me leave until she patched me up.” Monty steps toward him, eyes focused on the stitching above his eyebrow. “Doesn’t hurt so bad anymore.”

Monty’s eyes flicker to Nate’s throat. “And your neck?” he asks.

Nate shrugs a little. “Clarke doesn’t think I’ll have long term effects.”

“Your medic friend?”

“Yeah. Swallowing still sucks and food is worse, but it's okay.” Monty lifts his hand to cup Nate’s throat, his thumb lightly brushing over the marks. Nate tenses, sucking in a sharp breath. “I’m fine,” he rasps.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s--” Monty drops his hand. Nate hangs his head. “Fuck,” Nate mutters. “I hate feeling like this.”

“Afraid?”

“Damaged.” He shakes his head. “It’ll heal soon enough. It’s fine.” They stay like that, in orbit around one another, for one soft moment before Nate’s mouth curves into a smile. “You’re clean,” he says.

Monty blinks, looking for some sign of dirt on Nate, before realizing, “So are you.”

“Clarke wouldn’t let me leave until I showered,” he says. “Pain in my ass.”

“Sounds like a good friend,” Monty tells him, sliding his hands around Nate’s waist.

“She can be both.” He leans in, kissing Monty softly, and--God, Monty wants this all the time. “Have you eaten?” he asks. “We can order for food.”

“You have that kind of money?”

“I told you,” Nate says, leaning in again. “It’s about knowing the right people.” Monty _is_ hungry, so he and Nate look over the menu before Nate goes down to place an order for them at the front desk. “Shouldn’t be too long,” Nate tells him when he gets back.

“Cool. Because I want to talk strategy.”

Nate laughs. “Oh?”

“For getting out Jasper,” Monty amends.

“ _Oh_. Yeah, okay.”

The two of them move from the bed to a small living room like area while Monty goes over what he’s come up with. Pike’s Militia is insane but sometimes they hear to reason. If Monty goes in and petitions for Jasper’s release, it might be that simple. It could take some time, but if they don’t press charges (not that they’d ever go through anyway), it might speed the process along. If they’re denied that way, Monty has some money. He’s not opposed to bribery. If he can get Jasper out, he’ll give it all away. Start small in offers, but move from there. If that doesn’t work, he might just have to petition the law. It might not get anywhere but sometimes Militia will give away prisoners if it makes enough noise, and Monty’s good at getting people on his side.

“Sounds like you’ve thought through your options,” Nate says. “How can I help?”

“You said you know people,” Monty says after a bit. “Anyone who might be able to do something?”

Nate’s quiet a moment before he nods. “I can reach out to some people.” He hesitates. “I already did.”

Monty’s eyebrows furrow. “Today?”

“The message I left for a friend. It was about something else, but he could help. So I mentioned it.” Nate looks toward the door and Monty’s unsure if he’s looking for their food or just waiting for something else. “He might not want to. But he could.”

“Nate, that’d be amazing,” Monty says. Nate looks back to him, their eyes meeting. “Anything that would help,” he says. “I… really have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, but you’re trying,” Nate says. “That’s something.”

There’s a knock on the door and Nate stands, checking through the peephole before opening it to get their food. When he settles back down, after handing Monty his share, Monty feels like he needs to say something else. They’re quiet for their first few bites, savoring their meal, but it’s tugging inside of Monty and he has to get it out.

“I’m really grateful for you,” he says. Nate looks at him with a smile. “I mean--you’ve saved my life a few times, or whatever. But you’re--Nate, I’m really happy we met.”

“Me too.”

“And not just because of the life saving or the--the money and the connections.”

“I feel like I’ve led you to believe I have more money than I really do.”

“Regardless,” Monty says with a little laugh. “You’re pretty amazing.” Nate smiles again, taking another bite of food. They eat in silence for a bit before finally stacking their plates and setting them outside once they’re done. They shut the door again and Nate turns back to Monty, but before he can say anything, Monty clears his throat. “You haven’t asked much about the pendant,” he says.

Nate’s slow smile fades. “Did you want me to?” he wonders.

“No,” Monty admits. “I don’t know. It feels like a big deal.”

“It is a big deal.” His eyes dart to Monty’s chest where the shape of the pendant can be seen through his shirt. “But it’s not my secret to hold on to. It’s yours. If there’s more you want to tell me or--” he lets out a breath of a laugh, “ _show_ me, then I’m ready. But until then, I’m okay waiting.”

Monty hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“I know how precious secrets are,” Nate says with a nod. Monty walks toward him slowly. “And my God, this is a secret.”

Monty reaches Nate, sliding his hands around Nate’s hips. “Is it why you stuck around?” he asks.

“Nah. I thought you were pretty great before you waved your magic wand.” Monty laughs and Nate’s smile is back, full force. “Have you thought more about _that_ plan?” he asks. “The one with some settlement?”

“A little,” he admits. Nate was right, though. He needs more sources. People. Supplies. “I wanted to go South a bit. On the edge of Pike’s territory. The neighboring land--Floukru? They’re pretty peaceful. There’s this--no man’s land gap between Pike and them. Figured I’d start something there.”

“That’s a great place to begin,” Nate tells him.

“And you’ll be there?” Monty asks.

Nate nods. “Every step of the way, baby.”

The affection is too sweet and Monty’s stomach bubbles at the stupid nickname. He tugs Nate down and kisses him firmly, pleased when Nate kisses him back with just as much force and enthusiasm. Despite the push of it, Nate keeps the kiss full of fondness and warmth, like he’s putting thought into the way his lips meet Monty’s to make it as sweet as he can. With sure and steady steps, Nate leads him backwards to the bed, _their_ bed, and carefully pushes Monty down backwards.

But all of this is too slow. Monty hasn’t been with anyone in such a long time, and after all those weeks with Nate on the journey here, sleeping bags beside one another wasn’t enough. Monty rolls, pinning Nate down to the bed and swallowing the laugh he exhales.

“Eager much?” Nate asks.

Monty burns a kiss to his jaw, careful of his neck. “Maybe,” Monty exhales.

Nate laughs again before tugging Monty up to kiss him again, letting himself be pinned down against the mattress. His hips rutt forward and Nate groans, his entire body shivering beneath Monty’s hands. Monty presses his fingers to Nate’s hips before sliding up, under his shirt slowly. Nate breaks away, eyes dark. “Wait,” he murmurs. His own hands untangle from Monty’s hair so he can reach down, covering Monty’s hands and pushing them back. “Okay. Okay, wait a second.”

“Too fast?” Monty asks. The feel of Nate’s skin beneath his hands is burning his fingertips.

“No,” Nate says. There’s a laugh in his voice. “No, I just…” he trails off. Monty wants to kiss his way up Nate’s stomach, over his chest. He licks his lips while Nate fumbles for words. “I, um.” Nate lets out a long breath. “It’s--”

“It’s okay,” Monty cuts him off. Whatever his reason. Even though Monty wants more, he knows that this is moving fast. His hands find Nate’s arms instead. He has on these awful, long sleeves--Nate wears _a lot_ of long sleeves--that prevent Monty from feeling his skin, but he settles on Nate’s shoulders, not wanting to touch his neck. “Really, Nate. We can take our time.”

Before Monty can lean in and kiss Nate another time, something on Nate’s face changes. The room suddenly feels quiet. The flickering candles cast shadows across Nate’s face. Monty watches as he licks his lips.

“I have to tell you something,” Nate says softly.

Monty’s eyebrows pull together. He squeezes Nate’s shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

Nate looks at him a beat longer before he says, “I can get Jasper out of jail.”

Monty pulls back. “What?”

“I can get him out,” he says. “I know you have your plan, but I can get him out.”

“Because of your friend?” Monty asks. “That you left a message with?”

“Kind of. I’d be involved, too. It’s nearly guaranteed to go well,” Nate says. Why would Monty even indulge his dumb ideas, then? “But you won’t like it.”

Monty’s mouth opens and closes. He has so many questions that he isn’t sure which one he wants to ask first. “Is it dangerous?” he settles with.

He answers without hesitation. “Yeah.”

Monty thinks another moment. “Will you get hurt? Will Jasper?”

“Maybe,” Nate admits. “But probably not.”

That all seems to be fine. So… “Why won’t I like it?” Monty asks.

Before Nate can even think about how he wants to respond, there’s a knocking on the door. It startles Monty out of the moment and Nate moves almost as if on instinct, leaving Monty to fall forward on the bed in the spot of warmth he’s left behind. He looks through the hole to see out into the hallway before letting out a soft breath. When he pulls open the door, Monty’s curious as to why the girl Gina from the front desk is on the other end.

“Bellamy’s here,” she says.

Nate nods. “How’s he seem?”

“Pissed.”

“Yeah, sounds right.” He turns back to Monty. “I have to go,” he says.

“Wait--Nate,” Monty calls. “About Jasper--”

Gina turns away and Nate leans back into the room, shutting the door just a bit. “I can do it now,” he says.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious,” Nate murmurs. “Do you want me to?”

“Wait--without me?” Monty sits up. “I’m so confused,” he rushes. “What’s going on?” He pushes himself from the bed. “Why won’t I like this plan?” he presses. “What if your friend says no?” Nate just looks at him. Something is warring inside of Monty’s chest but--who is he kidding? If Nate can get Jasper out of jail, both of them unharmed, guaranteed to go well, then what is he waiting for? “If you can do it,” Monty says. "Then please."

Nate nods, turning back to Gina. “I’ll be down in a minute,” he tells her. She only shrugs. Nate doesn’t shut the door all the way, clear that the matter is urgent, when he turns back to Monty. “Listen,” he starts.

“I trust you,” Monty stops him. “Whatever it is, Nate. I trust you.”

“Monty--”

“I’m serious,” Monty presses. Maybe he hasn’t known Nate very long, and their whirlwind romance is a bit distracting at times, but Nate’s saved his life. More than once. He brought him to Chicago alive, he took care of him, he opened his heart. No matter what, Monty knows that Nate is a good man, and that's what matters. “I trust you. Whatever you have to do, it’s okay.” Nate looks conflicted so Monty steps forward, grabbing his hands. “Just bring Jasper back to me, okay?”

“I will,” Nate exhales.

Monty presses himself onto his toes, kissing Nate softly. “You come back too,” he murmurs.

Nate breathes out a laugh. “I will,” he says again. He kisses Monty one last time before heading to the door, looking more sure of himself than a moment ago, before leaving the room without another word.

The door clicks shut behind him, and then Monty’s all alone.

* * *

Monty spends the next hour or so pacing.

He tries to read more, looking for any mention of a Jaha in the journals, but nothing comes up. Even if it was the most interesting thing in the world (and... it kind of is), it wouldn’t be able to hold his attention. Monty paces some more.

Eventually he moves out on the balcony and looks at the stars. It’s calming, looking at the stars. They’re the same stars he looked at back in his small town. They’ll be the same stars when he moves to a new place too. That thought is reassuring, that no matter where he goes the stars will be the same, shifting with the seasons, lighting up the sky. He wonders if Nate likes stargazing. Maybe they can do that together. A real date, or something. Slow down a bit and get to know each other a little better. Still kissing, obviously, but more talking too.

The more Monty thinks about it, the less crazy it is. Their trip to Chicago was nearly a month long. That's... a lot longer than Monty originally realized. Nights by the fire, tending to one another's wounds, those are intimate things. The two of them, it's not as crazy as Monty thought.

He’s only out there for a bit when there’s a frantic knock on the door. Monty startle, unsure how to proceed. Nate would just walk in, which means it's not Nate.

Monty rushes to look through the peephole and finds a frustrated looking blonde girl on the other end. He hesitates. The girl knocks again. She doesn’t like… dangerous, exactly. Just angry. So Monty opens the door.

“Monty?” she asks.

“Uh. Yeah?”

“I’m Clarke,” she says. “Miller sent me.”

“You’re Clarke!” Monty says. The frustration on her face eases a little. “The medic friend.”

Clarke cracks a smile before striding into their room as though she lives there. "Yeah, that’s me. Grab your stuff. We have to move.”

Now it’s Monty’s turn to frown. “What? All of it?”

“Your position’s been compromised,” she says. “If we don’t move, someone else’ll be here _really_ soon. And if I lost you to Militia then Miller would probably murder me. So let’s go.”

Monty fumbles for his things, shoving them into his bag as quickly as he can. “Militia?” he asks. "They found him?"

“Is this Miller’s?” she wonders, gesturing to another bag.

“Is Nate okay?”

Clarke pauses, tipping her head at him. “Miller’s fine,” she says slowly. Her eyes narrow. “He told you his name,” she says. Monty’s eyes narrow too, and he nods. “And now everything makes sense. C’mon, Monty. Shouldn’t keep ‘em waiting.”

She swings Nate’s bag over her shoulder and jerks her head and Monty really should be more hesitant about trusting strangers, but he follows Clarke without any fear. They head straight for the staircase and bound down ten flights in silence before taking a long hallway to another room. Clarke pauses outside the door, knocks a special knock, and then the door flies open. Another stranger is on the other side, tall with a mop of dark curly hair and an insane amount of freckles.

“Delivery,” Clarke says. The guy rolls his eyes before opening the door all the way. “Let’s go,” she says, nearly pushing Monty into the room. There are only a few lights lit but Monty sees him at once.

“Jasper!” he shouts.

Jasper, sitting on the edge of bed, leaps to his feet. The grin that finds his face is overwhelming. “Monty!” he yells back. They run the small space of the room until they collide, arms wound around each other and laughter in their voices. “Oh man! Oh my God, you’re okay!”

“I’m okay?” Monty asks. “You’re okay! They--fucking took you!”

“I know, I know! They’re assholes!” The two of them are laughing, their hands on one another’s shoulders, patting and gripping as though really making sure that the other is really in front of them. “They said they’d bring me to you but you never--and you’re here!”

“I’m here!”

“You came to Chicago for me!”

“Of course!”

“Alright,” the man by the door says. Monty startles, having forgotten that there were other people in the room. “This is a great reunion,” he says. Monty steps toward Jasper, their chests nearly bumping, almost as though he’s trying to protect him. “But we’ve got to go.”

“Bellamy,” Monty hears. “Give them a minute.” Monty turns, releasing his hold on Jasper, finding Nate standing in the shadows. There’s a soft smile on his face. “We have time.”

“Not in abundance,” Clarke reminds him. “Kane said he could give us a few hours head start. That’s it. We need to leave the city.” Monty has no idea what’s happening but Jasper’s here and he’s not afraid and--fuck it, Monty’s not afraid either. “Sorry guys.”

“It’s okay,” Jasper says with a grin. “I mean I’m not in jail anymore so I’m pretty much thriving.”

Nate steps forward. “If you’re sure. Then we can go.” Monty goes to turn back to Jasper when his eyes catch on Nate, stepping toward him slowly, that smile still on his face. “Ready?”

“What are you wearing?” Monty asks. That’s a dumb question. It’s so dumb. Because it’s clear what Nate’s wearing. A Militia uniform. With his name on a patch on his chest, right over his heart. It’s a cool navy blue with golden buttons that look like they were made to be worn. There’s something crisp about it, clean, like it had been recently pressed and ironed. “That looks so real,” Monty murmurs, stepping forward.

“Monty…”

“It’s because it is,” Bellamy mutters. “Come on, let’s go.”

Monty freezes.

No.

“Monty,” Nate says again, stepping toward him. Monty reaches out, needing to know at once, the urgency of it palpable, grabbing Nate’s wrist, and he shoves up his sleeve and--

 _No_.

There, on Nate’s wrist, is the same marking that all Militiamen wear. The P is burned onto his wrist, angry scar tissue protruding. You can fake a uniform, but you can’t fake a mark from a fucking branding iron. All of the signs were there the whole fucking time, Monty just hadn't been paying attention. 

“Let me explain,” Nate says slowly while Monty’s still staring at it.  

“You’re Militia,” Monty responds, voice low and full of disbelief. He can’t look up at Nate. He can’t look up at him. Just at this mark, this mark that's been here the whole time, this mark that wipes away everything that's built between them. “You’re Militia?” Monty repeats, and Nate snatches his wrist out of Monty’s hold right away. “Have you--” Monty’s voice catches in his throat. The entire room is standing still. “Have you been using me?”

“No,” Nate says. “No--I mean, not really, just--”

Monty bursts, “Not really!”

"Not at all!" Nate pushes. "I'm--listen, Monty--"

His heart is somewhere in his stomach and his mind is buzzing as though it’s full of loose wires--he can’t think straight. He kissed this man. He showed this man the _pendant_. He had brief, whimsical dreams of a future with him.

“Oh my God,” Monty wants to weep. Something inside of him feels like it’s broken. Nate’s name printed on his shirt reminds Monty of the moment this man introduced himself. It just reads _Miller_. “You--you--you just--”

“Let me explain,” Miller says again, looking toward Bellamy and Clarke who’re just a few paces away. “Monty, it’s not what you think.”

“Not what I think?” he croaks. ”How is that even possible? Not what I think. You fucking--!”

“He broke me out, Monty,” Jasper says softly, cutting Monty off. He steps forward, putting himself between Miller and Monty, but Monty’s caught somewhere between overwhelming sadness and anger so hot it’s singeing his insides. “They broke a fuckton of rules. Miller and Bellamy broke me out.”

“They’re the reason you were thrown in there in the first place!” Monty shouts. “They’re the reason my mother’s dead!” Bellamy, still a few steps away, hangs his head, and Miller tries moving toward Monty again. “Don’t,” Monty growls.

“That was the mission you were the mission,” Miller hurries, glancing at Bellamy briefly before holding his hands up, signaling that he’s not going to move forward anymore. Clarke looks frustrated, and Monty’s unsure if it’s because of what’s happening or if it’s just because they haven’t left yet. “You’re right. I had been following you. My commander didn’t believe that your father was really dead, that you knew more than you let on, and he sent me undercover.” Monty feels sick, his insides still wildly angry. “But I--Monty, everything that happened between us--”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Jasper cuts him off. Monty’s clutching his stomach. “What did you do?” he demands.

“No,” Miller rushes. “It’s not-- _listen_!”

“You _used_ me,” Monty carries on.

“We don’t have time for this,” Clarke murmurs.

“He deserted for you,” Bellamy finally says, his voice loud. Monty and Jasper both turn to look at him but Miller’s still looking at Monty, eyes full of sadness. “He abandoned his post after a week. Hasn’t shown up for his check-ins. Our commanding officer doesn’t know shit about who you are or where you are and it’s because Miller deserted. The longer we wait here the more likely it is he’s going to die for what he’s done for you.”

“I thought they were being stupid,” Miller says, eyes only on Monty. “I didn’t think you knew anything from the start of it. But a mission’s a mission and you have to do what they want to stay alive. I wasn’t even supposed to talk to you. But then you…” Miller trails off, glancing at Bellamy and Jasper before lowering his voice. “Monty,” Miller says. “You had this spirit that I hadn’t seen, and--”

“Fucking save it,” Monty snaps, and Miller finally shrinks. His gaze drops to the ground and he looks like a broken man. _Good_ , Monty thinks bitterly. “God how fucking stupid could I have been! Who did you tell?”

“About what?” Jasper asks.

“The pendant,” Monty clarifies. The heat in his veins is turning to ice. “Who _knows_?”

“What pendant?” Bellamy asks. Miller’s still looking at the ground. “What pendant?” he asks again, but neither Monty nor Miller answer.

“You had this dream,” Miller finally carries on. “About restarting. On your own. Your own settlement, your own community. You have the means to _do it_. And it sounded--I wanted that.” Miller shakes his head. “I _want_ that. Monty, I didn’t tell anyone. I told you it was your secret and I meant that.”

Monty hesitates, but finally he looks to Bellamy, to Clarke. “You don’t know anything?”

“I know Miller’s a fucking sap,” Bellamy says. “And an idiot. But about a… pendant? No.”

“Why are you here, then?” Monty presses. “If Miller deserted--are you just--”

“That was my original mission,” Bellamy says with a nod. “To find him. But he was good at hiding. And then he…” Bellamy trails off, eyes darting to Miller who’s still staring at the ground, taking the punches that are thrown in his direction without argument. “He found me, mostly. Told me about _you_. Your plan, once you found your friend. With the new settlement.”

“I’m kind of stuck wherever these assholes go,” Clarke says with a sigh. “They’re my family.” Clarke tugs up her wrist to reveal a P of her own, looking down at it with wet eyes. “And I need out, too.”

“We’ve been looking for a way out for a while,” Miller adds.

“None of us really wanted a way in,” Bellamy elaborates. “It’s just how it happened. And Miller was convinced that this new settlement, that it would be _good_. I’m not entirely sold yet, but he’s my best friend and I trust him with my life. Because that’s what this is. Life or death.”

Everyone’s quiet for a long time before Miller finally says, “If you’ll have us, we want to join you.”

“This is a trap,” Monty says firmly. “This is--this has to be a trap.”

“I meant what I said,” Miller responds, just as firmly, finally lifting his eyes. “Everything that happened between us was real for me.” Monty shakes his head but Miller stays firm in his stance. “I was going to tell you,” he says, voice lower.

“No--that’s--it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter?” Miller presses. “If I had told you earlier today instead of you finding out like this--it wouldn’t have changed anything?”

 _I have to tell you something_ , Miller-- _Nate_ had said. _You won’t like it_.

“Please,” Clarke calls from where she stands, arms wrapped around herself. “Pike’ll be here soon. We have to go.”

Monty turns to Jasper. It’s up to him. If Jasper nods, then they’ll go. They’ll take these three strangers to their new place. They’ll work out the danger of it later.

“We need them,” Jasper says quietly, but not quiet enough that the others can’t hear him. “Let’s get the hell out of Chicago.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey remember when i wrote this fic well i'm gonna finish it even if it kills me

Hiking at night out of the city is harder than Monty would’ve thought it be. But Bellamy leads the way, who apparently has some sort of skill in tracking, and Clarke is by his side full of determination and fire. Miller takes the rear, making sure no one’s following them. Jasper and Monty stay far enough away from all three of them, in the middle, even though Monty sort of wishes he wasn’t near any of them at all.

“So what happened?” Jasper asks once they’ve been hiking for a few hours, finally out of the twisting turning streets. This time he’s quiet enough that no one probably overhears, as opposed to earlier. “With you and, uh. Miller?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Monty answers. His stomach is still churning. He keep seeing the brand on Miller’s wrist, the burn that marks him as unclean and dangerous and poison.

Jasper rolls his eyes. “The dude took out three other Militiamen without hesitation to break me out of jail for you,” he says. “He clearly cares. It clearly _matters_.”

There’s a simple explanation, the same explanation Monty thought of earlier today when he was alone in the hotel room. “He just wants the pendant.”

“Yeah, about that,” Jasper says. “What the hell is this pendant?”

“It makes the lights work,” Monty murmurs. He should be more dramatic about it, make the reveal more special. Jasper _is_ his best friend, after all. But it feels like a weight, now. The pendant hangs heavy against his chest. “Remember how my mom used to tinker with computers and shit?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Well she could probably turn them on,” Monty says. He pulls the pendant off of his neck and hands it over to Jasper, who studies it with a frown. “It creates a small radius--I have no fucking idea how--and anything in the radius just… works.” Jasper stops walking. Monty pauses a few moments later. “I don’t know, Jasp.”

“Dude!”

“So Miller just wants the fucking pendant,” he says. “I’m sure of it.”

“ _Dude!_ ” Jasper says again. Monty steps backwards to him and puts his hand on Jasper’s shoulder before guiding him forward, ignoring the curious look from Miller a few yards back. “That’s--dude, that’s--are you serious? That’s!”

“I know, I know,” Monty says, finally managing a smile. “Sorry I’m not more excited.”

“Dude! They just? Oh my God. Things just? Work again? Monty!”

“I know, I know, I know,” Monty says again, reaching to take the pendant back from his friend. “Shh. It’s--” finally, his smile breaks his face. “It’s incredible, Jasper.”

“It sounds fucking incredible, Monty!” Monty laughs. He missed Jasper so much. “You showed--” he drops his voice. “You showed that guy before you showed me?” he asks, casting a glance over his shoulder. “C’mon, man.”

“You were in jail!”

“You can turn the lights back on!” Jasper whisper-shouted. “You wait for something like that!” Monty laughs again, shaking his head a bit. To laugh like this, it makes things seem less heavy. “Man, you’ll have to show me. Oh God, that’s--I have to see!”

“Soon,” Monty promises.

Jasper goes to say something else when the two of them realize that Bellamy and Clarke have stopped walking. “What’s going on?” Jasper calls up to them. “Making camp for the night?”

“Not yet,” Clarke calls back.

“Then why--”

Miller strides past the two of them to catch up with Clarke and Bellamy. “I found Jaha for you,” Miller murmurs.

 _Jaha_. The name makes Monty’s stomach solidify. Monty clenches his pendant in his hand and tenses, watching Miller walk past both Bellamy and Clarke to the door of a small house that they’ve approached. Monty should’ve realized they were coming upon it, but talking with Jasper left him distracted. The house itself is nothing phenomenal, barely two stories tall, and looks absolutely abandoned.

But Miller knocks, and there’s a long stretch of silence before the door opens.

“Miller,” the man on the other end greets with a smile. He reaches out, thumping Miller on his shoulders. “Damn, it’s been a while.”

“Missed you too, Wells,” Miller returns. “I, uh. I’ve got some company.”

“Yeah,” Wells says, nodding at the people who stand off the porch. “Yeah, I’ve been waiting for them.” He looks toward Monty, Monty _specifically_ , and waits until their eyes meet. “You must be a Green,” he says. “Come on in.”

* * *

Wells Jaha is not what Monty expected him to be, but to be fair, nothing has really made sense for awhile now. He’s young--roughly the same age as Monty--and has way more control over _his_ pendant than Monty does his own.

Yes, Wells Jaha has a pendant.

After ushering their small party inside, Wells leads them down a very narrow staircase that seems to stretch on forever. Once the darkness is overwhelming and claustrophobic, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his pendant, and the entire room fills with light.

There are pleasantries exchanged between everyone, apparently Clarke and Wells are close too, before he leaves his pendant with Miller (a dangerous, stupid move, Monty thinks) and asks Monty to see his own. Despite Monty’s reluctance, Wells clearly knows what he’s doing, and there’s something genuine in everything that Wells does. So Monty hands it over, and the two are off.

“You have questions,” Wells notes. “Ask them.”

So Monty asks, and Wells answers, and soon Monty gets a full run-down of why the pendants exist in the first place.

“The blackout was an accident,” Wells says as he leads Monty through his underground warehouse. The walls are covered with American flags and there are wires absolutely everywhere. The light follows them as they walk. “My father was part of the team that made it happen. So was yours.”

“What?” Monty blanches. “No way.”

“You wouldn’t have a pendant if that weren’t true,” Wells says. “It was something created by the Department of Defense. Old DoD, obviously. Not a Militia or a modern army, but what they had back then. Meant to wipe out the other side’s defenses. I don’t… know the details,” Wells admits, rounding a corner, “but I know enough. It was nanotechnology.”

“Nanotechnology,” Monty repeats.

“Do you not--”

“I’ll stop you if I’m not following,” Monty cuts him off. “Sorry. Go.”

“Nanotechnology,” Wells says again, this time with a nod. “They were capable of duplicating themselves, so they spread. Everywhere. All over.” Wells gestures with his hand. “There are millions, billions of them in this room now. The nano is what blocks power from working properly.” Wells shakes his head, his eyes narrowing. “The pendant…” he trails off. “Pendants,” he corrects. “They create their own radius.”

“Knew it,” Monty murmurs.

“It triggers the nano in that area to pause, or something. I’ve never been great with tech.”

“I’ve got my father’s journals,” Monty says. “I think I can use them to figure out how to make the radius bigger.”

Wells smiles. “Big dreams,” he says.

“I’ve got to try,” Monty tells him.

He finds out that there are roughly 20 pendants in total, maybe only 6 or 7 in what used to be the United States. A few in Europe, some more in Africa, and most of them have been triggered within the past year meaning someone, somewhere, is making things work.

“You can tell when they’ve been triggered?” Monty asks, and Wells leads him to a wall--a map--that flickers when one’s being used.

He points to where they’re located, out near Chicago, and two small lights glow.

“That’s us,” he says. “The one here, and the one--” one of the lights goes out, but the room Monty’s standing in is still glowing. Wells laughs. “They’re hard to make work if you’re not sure how,” he says. The other’s has gone out. “Let’s go help them out, yeah?”

* * *

Thankfully the remaining group isn’t _all_ useless. They crafted a small torch so when their pendant flickered off, they at least had some light. Clarke hands it back to Wells and fiddles with it until the lights come back on for them.

“These few rooms here,” Wells says, gesturing to the area around them, “the power should keep on through the night.”

“You’ve been able to expand the radius?” Monty asks as Wells hooks the pendant into a spot on the wall.

“For a few rooms, yes,” he says. Wells gestures. “Common area here,” he says. “Kitchenette next door. Bunks over here.” He smiles, looking sheepish. “I’ve had a lot of time to prepare for this,” he says. The lights flicker and everyone looks up. “It’s not foolproof.”

“It’s more than enough,” Miller says. “Thank you, Wells.”

The groups split up a bit then, Bellamy dragging Miller and Clarke toward the kitchenette while Monty and Jasper head for the bunks. Wells excuses himself for some maintenance and then it all falls quiet.

“This is insane,” Jasper says. The can hear the others by the kitchen, but no words filter through. “This is… just, holy shit, Monty.”

Monty exhales, leaning back in his bed. “Yeah.”

Jasper keeps looking up, looking at the lights. “Like--seriously.”

“Yeah,” Monty says again. “I know.” A laugh bubbles out of him and Monty turns. Despite his exhaustion, he smiles. Jasper looks so wonderstruck. “I’m so happy we got you, Jasp.” Monty shakes his head. “I couldn’t imagine having this without you here.”

Jasper looks to him. “I love you, Monty.”

“Hey, I love you too.”

Jasper sinks down into his own bed, his smile still there. “ _This is insane_ ,” he whispers again.

Monty lets sleep overtake him. “Yeah,” he exhales.

* * *

The next few days are a sort of a mess. Wells’ pendant can’t run too long and Monty’s isn’t tuned up enough to carry the extra weight, so they spend a lot of time upstairs using natural night. Wells has some connections, and so do the others because of the Militia, and soon enough they have mapped out a location to start their new settlement.

It won’t take that long to get to it if they take the river, so that’s what’s decided upon.

Monty keeps to himself for the most part, speaking only with Wells and Jasper. Occasionally Clarke, but never to Miller. He can’t do that. He can’t do it yet.

But the night before they leave for their new place, Monty settles on the couch with one of his journals, and Miller approaches him. He wonders if Miller’s been waiting for the right time, or what, but Monty’s utterly alone when the other man makes his presence known.

“Can we talk?” Miller asks. He’s lingering in the doorway, a smart move, leaving lots of space between himself and Monty. But still, it doesn’t feel far enough. Monty looks up from his journal but only briefly, only enough to verify that it’s actually Miller standing here.

Monty clears his throat. “I just don’t think I want do that right now,” he says.

Miller nods, but he doesn’t move. He stays firmly planted where he stands. “How long?” he asks. “Until then?”

“I don’t know,” Monty admits. Miller nods again, but doesn’t move. “You understand why I don’t want anything to do with you at the moment,” Monty says, surprised at how sharp his voice is. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Miller rasps. “But you understand why I want to explain, right?”

“No,” Monty admits. He lowers his journal. “Is it so you can figure out the best ways to manipulate me moving forward?”

Miller strides into the room then, his face riddled with hurt. “If you want me to leave,” he says clearly, “then I’ll go. And I won’t come back.” Monty holds his gaze. It’s a challenge, Miller must know that, because he stands a bit straighter. “You can go to the settlement and I’ll fuck right off, okay? Just give me the word.” Still, silence. His voice is clear and icy when he speaks again. “I joined the Militia when I was seventeen to protect my father.” Miller shakes his head at Monty, eyes dark. “I did what I had to do to keep him alive. I always have, I owe that to him. Have I done things since then that I regret? Yes. All the fucking time, Monty, but I can’t take it back. I can only be better.”

Monty’s eyes drop them and he fiddles with the edge of the leather bound book in his hands. “You lied to me,” he says simply.

“Yeah, because if i’d told you the moment I saved your life the first time that I was working for the Militia you definitely would’ve trusted me enough to travel together.”

“How much of it was planned?” Monty asks. “Those men, that first night. Did you--”

Miller throws his head back in a sadistic laugh. “You think I planned that? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I don’t _know_ Nate!” he shouts.

The darkness fades from Miller’s eyes for just a moment. Monty shouldn’t call him that, he realizes that now. Back to Miller. Back to before. “I was never even supposed to talk to you,” Miller says lowly. “When we started traveling together, everyone advised me against it. I figured it wouldn’t be that bad. Maybe I’d get the info they wanted. Whatever. But it was clear you weren’t on this--fucking secret trip. You just wanted Jasper and--”

“Enough,” Monty cuts him off tiredly. “I can’t do this right now, Miller.”

He’s quiet for a long time. “Does that make it easier?” he asks.

Monty sighs. “Does _what_ make it easier?”

“Calling me Miller again,” he says. “Does that help you forget what we did?”

Monty shakes his head. “We didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t lie to yourself,” Miller snaps. He steps back, dragging his hand over his head in frustration. “Jesus Christ, Monty,” he murmurs. “I don’t--how can you just act like all of those nights are null, now?”

“Because they are,” Monty snaps back. “Now leave me alone. I told you I don’t want to do this.”

Miller holds his gaze for as long as he can, eyes sad and wet, before he turns on his heel and marches out of the room. The silence that follows is painful. Monty tries to get back to the journal, having more of an understanding about what everything means after his conversations with Wells, but he can’t fucking focus on anything. His eyes are burning. It feels like his lungs are full of water. Every time he swallows the knot in his throat gets bigger and--God, fuck, _fuck_ , everything hurts.

He reaches up and wipes at his eyes and commands himself to breathe. It’ll be fine. Monty just needs to learn to stop giving away pieces of himself to others. What happened between him and Miller was brief and stupid and it’s over now. It doesn’t matter how close they got those nights by the fire, it doesn’t matter that they kissed like it was a cure. It’s over. It’s over, and there’s no reason to linger on it.

There’s a knock on the doorframe and Monty looks up, relieved that Miller hasn’t returned. He’s not much happier to see Clarke, but at least she looks sympathetic. “You okay?” she asks.

Monty blinks away his tears. He’s about to say yes when he just can’t fucking take it anymore. “Not really,” he admits weakly.

“Jasper told me you’ve had a rough couple of months,” she says softly, entering the room. “And i heard you and Miller fighting. So I just wanted to check in.” Monty doesn’t say anything else, he just shuts his journal again and stares at the floor. “I’m a doctor,” she says. “It’s kind of my job to care about people.”

“Well this isn’t something you can fix,” he mutters back.

Clarke laughs a little. “Yeah. I know.” She crosses the room and sits on the couch beside him. She doesn’t say anything, she just sits beside him and waits.

Monty’s sure how much time passes before he clears his throat. “Why’d you join the Militia?” he asks.

Her smile slips away. Clarke lifts her shoulders into a shrug. “It gave me more control,” she says. Monty isn’t sure he understands, let alone believes her. All he’s heard of the Militia is that they take away from who you are. “They were going to take my mother,” she says. “She’s a medic too. A good one. But if I joined them, they didn’t need another her.” Another shrug. “She got to stay free if I joined. So I joined.”

“Just like that,” Monty says.

“Well they killed my father,” Clarke says. “So not only did I refuse to let them take my mother, but there was no way she would’ve been okay working for them. It was a choice I made.”

Monty thinks of Miller, of how he said he joined to keep his dad safe. Monty wonders what that means, what it entails. “Do you find that a lot of people in the Militia joined for reasons like your own?”

Clarke thinks on this. “Maybe not _a lot_ ,” she admits. “But enough that it makes a difference.” They’re both quiet again, Monty fidgeting with the cover of the journal while he listens to Clarke’s breathing. “Miller’s one of the good ones,” she says.

“Don’t.”

“If it weren’t for him and Bellamy,” Clarke carries on despite the warning, “I don’t think I’d have made it this far.” Monty hangs his head. “Everyone’s got a story,” she tells him. “If you pick and choose whose excuses are better than others, it’ll never be okay.” Clarke shrugs. “We live in a world of impossible choices, Monty. You’ve had to make some.”

“Yeah,” Monty exhales. “I guess I have.”

Clarke nudges him. “Let’s get some sleep, okay? Big day tomorrow.”

With a sigh, Monty tucks his journal under his arm and nods.

* * *

While Monty wishes he could just use his and Wells’ pendants to kick start an airplane to get them to their new settlement, their journey along the various rivers isn’t so bad. It’s a lot of quiet planning, divvying up tasks among the few for when they arrive. Monty still isn’t sure if it’s going to work out, but with Wells on their team and Jasper by his side he’s regained that little bit of hope he had at the start of all of this.

Since their argument, Miller keeps his distance. So does Bellamy, but to be fair, Bellamy hasn’t spoken much with Monty in the first place. Clarke’s the only bridge between Monty and the others, and while they might not be the closest he does admit he enjoys her company.

But in general, it’s not like they have a lot of time for conversation. Between hiking and navigating the river and rotating through shifts to sleep, it’s a long trip. Even if Monty had things he wanted to talk about he isn’t convinced that he’d be able to get his mouth to work.

There are a few moments, no matter how brief, that he _does_ miss Miller. When Monty’s exhaustion finds him at night he wants someone warm by his side, he thinks of the nights on his trip to Chicago that he and Miller rested side by side, those soft seconds where Monty would press his forehead to Miller’s chest and Miller would run his fingers through Monty’s hair and they were there together. Sometimes he wakes up feeling cold and these memories come back then, too. But Monty shoves them away and focuses on their journey, focuses on moving forward and putting the past behind him.

Fifteen days later, tired and dirty, they climb off of their boat. Another four, they’re in their new neighborhood.

It’s a cluster of abandoned cul de sacs in what must have used to be a gated community. The gate lingers but it’s not enough protection, and after their first full night of sleep they start building a wall.

A full month passes before the tension that lingers in Monty’s shoulders finally begins to ease. There’s something comforting about his aching muscles at the end of a day, something exciting about watching the wall around their new home slowly form.

It all falls together piece by piece. Wells brings in some people he knows will be both good additions to the community but also hard workers, they keep their pendant use to a minimum, and finally Monty feels like he has a place to call his home. He and Jasper claim a house of their own and take the time to make it feel like theirs.

Another month passes before the first entire cul de sac is gated in. It’s a slow process but a worthwhile one. Everyone knew going into this that it would take some time.

Again, Wells brings in more people for their community, and again, everyone works steadily. Monty ignores the looks that Miller sends in his direction and focuses his energy on growth, on change, on the future.

Before anyone knows it, their community hits 50 people, ten of which are children in families, and their settlement experiment begins.

* * *

Everyone has their own tasks.

There are people in security and there are people in community outreach and there are people in farming and there are people in tech. Mainly Monty, but whatever. Wells hands his pendant over to Monty and tells him to get to work, and he does, but no one else really has an affinity for it.

“I need help,” Monty expresses to Jasper one night. “I’m learning and trying to create all at once, it’s not like I have a baseline of knowledge for this.”

“Have Murphy and Emori look into tech people,” Jasper suggests.

“Tech people don’t exist. And it’s hard to put the word out without revealing that we’re, you know, here.”

He expresses the same concerns to Wells, who insists that he’ll help figure something out. In fact, all of them sit down one day to talk about who they should be bringing in.

“We don’t need more Militiamen here,” Monty argues, not caring how sharp his voice is.

They’re all seated around the table and Bellamy has brought this idea forward. That this place can be a sanction to people fleeing the Militia. That here they can find themselves again and get away from the company they don’t even want to be a part of.

“I think it’s worth considering,” Wells returns. Bellamy’s silent, his arms crossed over his chest as people volley back and forth with their opinions. “Bellamy’s right. This place is supposed to be the opportunity to get away from that all and to start over.”

“The more Militiamen that are here,” Jasper offers, “the more likely other Militiamen will come looking for them. It draws a lot of attention to us.”

“No one even knows that we exist,” Clarke tosses back. “It doesn’t draw attention to us because we’re a blip on a map that no one’s even looking at.”

“Defectors or not,” Monty carries on, “it’s not safe.”

Miller’s been silent this whole time too, but now he speaks up. “After all the three of us have done,” he says lowly, referencing him and Bellamy and Clarke, “you’re still under the assumption that all people in the Militia are dangerous?”

“They are,” Monty returns. It doesn’t matter that Monty’s seen the three of them work and sweat and bleed for this new home, they’re still dangerous. “They may have other skills but they’ve learned to fight and they’ve learned how to manipulate and they’re good at getting what they want.”

“And they’ll be good guardsmen when we bring them in,” Miller snaps back. It feels like this is the only way they talk these days, across this meeting table. “We need to fortify this place! You have--Jesus Christ, Monty, you have magic in your hands and you’re not even willing to bring in people we trust so we can protect it?” They hold one another’s gaze and it’s the longest they’ve looked at each other in days. Miller’s the first to look away. “It’s your funeral,” he finally mutters.

Monty and Miller, they talk. But it’s never at the capacity Monty thinks either of them needs.

“It’s all of our funerals,” Clarke corrects. “We need more guards.”

“We need builders,” Jasper tries, clearly attempting to be on Monty’s side despite the hitch in his voice that tells Monty he isn’t buying it. “Healers. Craftsman.”

“It’s almost like Militiamen don’t have any other qualities,” Bellamy mutters.

“We need all of these people,” Wells says, keeping his voice even. “Crafters and guards. Thinkers and doers. That’s what a society is. My vote is to bring in ex-Militiamen after we screen them.”

“Seconded,” Miller says.

“All who agree?”

Everyone’s hand but Monty’s goes up. Jasper shoots him an apologetic look.

The days are full of work, but the nights feel lonely.

Monty finds himself awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wanting more. Even after all this time has passed, he can’t get Miller out of his mind. They’ve hardly spoken but his constant presence, his hard work, it wears Monty down day by day. He’s giving him the space that Monty asked for which is helpful but, paired with how quickly everything is happening, Monty’s just confused. Confused and tired and still so angry about what Miller did to him.

While he’s staring at the ceiling, Monty watches his window light up. The courtyard in the middle of the settlement is where some of the guards gather between shifts, and Monty presses himself to his feet to peek outside.

Monty should’ve known that the light from the courtyard was for Bellamy and Miller. They’re the only consistent security this place has for the time being, no one new _too_ trusted to take a shift alone, and though their neighborhood is small it definitely still needs protection. Monty makes his way downstairs and silently creeps outside. He’s just about to ask if they can turn the light off--it’s not _safe_ \--when it dims anyway, the two of them realizing it’s too bright.

“It’s been months now, Miller,” Bellamy says softly, and Monty presses himself back against his door. “You’ve got to let him go.” There’s silence on Miller’s end but Monty wonders if he just can’t hear if Miller answered.

“I know,” Miller finally answers. “And I’m trying. There’s no reason for me to be hanging onto this. I thought maybe with more space it would sort itself out. It’s just…” he trails off.

“It’s hard,” Bellamy murmurs. “I know.” They’re quiet again. “You’ve said your apologies,” Bellamy says. “If Monty can’t forgive you--”

“I _know_ ,” Miller cuts him off. “But that’s like… that’s like after a month of being with Clarke,” Miller says, trying to put it in words and feelings that Bellamy can understand and relate to, “she changes her mind. Takes it all back.” Bellamy’s silent. “It’s hard to forget that we had that. Because Bellamy, I don’t care what Monty says, it was _good_. And it was real.”

“Okay. But--”

“I know, I know,” Miller cuts him off tiredly. “It’s over.”

There’s more silence, and Monty knows that he needs to leave, but his feet keep him planted in his spot. “Is it because of this place?” Bellamy asks. “Is that why you’re hanging onto him? Because of the… the light. The promise of a future. The magic of that and how he’s involved in it.”

“He didn’t even tell me about the pendant until after we started,” Miller tells him. “The only thing that pendant did was kickstart me into getting the fuck away from the Militia because I thought I finally had a chance to make it out alive. Monty… he was more than that.” Miller sighs. “Being here, it’s--I mean, fuck, Bellamy, of course it’s incredible. But in the end, he’s the reason I’m staying. For the--for the fucking _chance_ that he’ll give me the time of day again.”

“Damn.”

“It’s pathetic.”

“It means you care,” Bellamy corrects. “Which is--Miller, that’s good.”

“Maybe I should just pack up and leave while I still can,” Miller mutters. “Before this really takes off.” Monty has to swallow a shout of _no_ , confused as to where it’s actually coming from. “Maybe that’s best for all of us.”

“Or maybe you can stay here and help to build a new, accepting society that takes in defected Militiamen and encourages educational growth instead,” Bellamy responds. Miller laughs a little, and Monty is suddenly aching from the sound of it. It’s been so long since he’s heard Miller laugh. “Maybe your new start here isn’t with Monty, but it’s a new start. Take it. And if he doesn’t come around, then he’s not the one. And you’ll find someone else.”

Miller lets out a breath. “Yeah. I guess.”

Monty slips back instead after taking a deep breath. Bellamy’s advice is good for Monty, too. Even after the heartache that followed the discovery of Miller as a militiaman, he’s been holding on to something. This place is meant to be his new start as well.

He decides to talk to Miller tomorrow.

* * *

After a morning where nothing seems to be going Monty’s way, he starts off for the guard house ready to talk to Miller. It’s time they sort things out, what with Emori and Murphy bringing back a couple of people every week or so. The leadership of this settlement has to be united, and whether Monty likes it or not, Miller’s part of that.

When he slips inside, he’s surprised that Miller’s alone. He looks up at Monty’s entrance before looking back down, only to do a double take. His eyes widen. They’re both quiet while Monty pulls the door shut behind him.

“Finally here to ask me to leave?” Miller asks.

Monty shakes his head. “No. But we should still talk.” Miller leans back in his seat, shifting so he’s facing Monty head on. “We’ve made a lot of progress here,” Monty says, and Miller nods slowly. “That’s in large part to you. So thank you for that.”

“Can we skip the formalities?” Miller asks. “What do you want, Monty?”

He takes a deep breath. “I think that we should just move on. Put everything behind us.”

Miller’s eyes narrow. “You… want to start fresh?”

“Not exactly,” Monty says. Starting fresh leaves room for the two of them being together, and that’s not what Monty wants to do. He _can’t_ do that. “But I can look past all of the lying you did to get here because of the benefits you bring to this place.”

Miller drops his gaze. “Sure.”

“I want us to at least get along, Miller,” Monty says. “I wouldn’t be here without you.” Miller’s looking down at the documents in front of him, nodding slowly, but Monty needs to make it more clear. “That’s all,” he says.

“That’s all,” Miller agrees tiredly. “Yeah. Got it.”

“So no…” he trails off. “Just, be mindful, I guess,” Monty manages, unsure how he wants to word it.

Miller looks back to him. “You mean, don’t make any moves on you?” he asks. He breathes out a breath of a laugh. “Jesus Christ, Monty,” Miller huffs. “You kissed _me!_ ” His words hang in the air for a moment and Monty isn’t sure where he’s going with this. “You showed _me_ the pendant. _You_ invited _me_ here. Not the other way around!” He drags his hand over his head before taking a deep breath. “It’s been you this whole time, you making choices. And still you act like I manipulated you and forced you to do things you didn’t want and--just, fuck, okay?”

“Miller…”

“Don’t,” he stops him. “I’m just--God, I’m fucking tired of this.” They’re both quiet for a moment while Miller shakes his head. “You were my mission, okay? I’ll always admit that to be the truth. But I never made you do anything you didn’t want to do or share anything you didn’t want to share. So stop acting like I have and fucking--just fucking grow up.” Monty’s mouth hangs open. “I won’t _make any moves_ ,” Miller mutters before waving at the door. “Can you go now? I have work to do.”

“Miller,” he tries again.

“Just get out,” he snaps. “Message received loud and clear.”

Monty hurries outside without another word.

* * *

Despite the conversation not going how Monty wanted it to, Miller does less to avoid Monty in the days following, and vice versa. They even share a few nods, but that’s about it. It’s better, but it’s not great.

About a week passes before Monty’s making his settlement rounds when he sees Miller walking beside a girl in the distance that he doesn’t recognize. At once, there’s a bubble of anger in his stomach that he doesn’t understand. He tries to blame it on the fact that Miller’s bringing in people to their community without _talking_ to Monty first--whoever she is didn’t come in with Emori and Murphy’s last group so she has to be a personal pull--but that’s not the truth. The truth is that Miller’s smiling and the girl beside him is absolutely stunning and there’s something between them that Monty doesn’t like.

 _You don’t like Miller anyway_ , Monty stubbornly reminds himself, knowing it’s not true but refusing to acknowledge that those feelings still linger. _You’ve made it clear. It’s just a safety issue_.

“Miller,” Monty calls. Miller tugs the girl along and her smile brightens as she spots Monty. “Who’s this?” Monty asks.

“Raven Reyes,” Miller tells him, and the name sounds slightly familiar.

“It’s a shame that I still need to be introduced,” Raven says. “It’s much better when I just arrive places and they already know who I am.”

“You’re getting there,” Miller murmurs. “Munitions expert. Likes to make things go boom. I sent for her a few weeks ago but she only just arrived this morning”

Monty’s eyebrows furrow. “We don’t need a munitions expert,” Monty murmurs.

“I specialize in munitions,” Raven says, straightening her back, adjusting her voice to be more professional. “But I’m a mechanic. I make things _go_ , even when they don’t want to.”

Monty’s mind starts turning. He can’t work on tech by himself, his brain just isn’t cut out for it. He might be good at tinkering on small things but he could use someone else, someone smart, to assist him on bigger projects. Miller knows this.

“She’s practically a genius,” Miller tells Monty as though he’s reading Monty’s mind.

“No,” she says. “I _am_ a genius.”

“I told you before,” Miller says. “I'm in this. And we need people.”

 _I sent for her a few weeks ago_ , Miller had said, which meant even before Monty approached him he was reaching out to others. _I’m in this_.

Miller nudges her forward and Raven reaches out to shake her hand. “I hear you’ve got magic you want to play with,” Raven says. “Can I see?”

* * *

Raven Reyes is fucking brilliant. She’s _brilliant_. Monty’s overwhelmed by the speed in which she learns, by her eagerness to make a change and help out this community she has really nothing to do with. She tells him how she’s already sent for a friend--Sinclair--who was their age when the lights went out and is itching to teach them everything he knows.

It turns out that she’s friends with most everyone else based on her interactions with them, but for a while she’s been more or less of an enigma. Apparently in the past she would show up when needed only to disappear again, off to do her own thing.

“I don’t want to owe anyone anything,” Raven says as she tinkers beside Monty one day. “I’d been living for other people my whole life and then one day I decided I was done with it.”

“Just like that,” Monty says.

“Yep. Traveled on my own. Made some friends who knew how to reach me if they needed help. Now I’m here.” She looks to him with a soft smile on her face. “I’ll be here until my talents will prove better elsewhere. But. To be honest. I don’t think that will be for awhile.”

Monty watches as the pendant lights up under Raven’s touch and he grins. “I sure hope not.”

* * *

Miller bringing Raven to the settlement breaks down the wall that Monty built between them all of those months ago. “I really mean it,” Monty says one evening as Miller’s doing his evening rounds. Sinclair’s been in the settlement for a few days now and Monty’s mind is overflowing with knowledge from all he’s learned since then. “Raven’s the best. Thank you, Miller.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Miller says, leaning against the wall. But he’s smiling, and Monty can’t deny he likes it when Miller smiles. “Bellamy and Clarke, too.”

“She told me it was you who sent the letter.”

Miller shrugs. “You said you needed help. You deserve the best.” Monty’s eyes drop down at that and Miller stands up a little straighter as though realizing what he’s said. “I, um.” He clears his throat. “I know you’re not--you’re not single handedly in charge, per say,” Miller begins. “But I wanted to run something by you.”

Monty lounges backwards in his chair. “Shoot.”

“I’m going to start decreasing my time on security,” he says. Monty arches an eyebrow. “Bellamy and I are training Atom and I trust him, he’ll make a good lead guard.”

“Okay…” Monty says slowly. “So what are you going to be doing with the spare time?”

Miller looks hesitant. “Bellamy wants more help at the schoolhouse,” he says. Bellamy started decreasing his guard hours long ago. “And I never…” he trails off. “I want to work with kids,” he says. “This place is our fresh start, right?”

Monty remembers Miller mentioning it forever ago, his love of books and reading. “You want to teach,” Monty says, and Miller nods.

“Bellamy’s more of a history guy,” he says. “This way he can take history and government and science and I can focus on English and the arts. It’ll put less pressure on him to know everything and give me the opportunity to do what I want to do.”

“Like you said,” Monty says with a shrug. “I’m not single handedly in charge.” Miller’s smile is back, soft and familiar, and Monty aches from it.

 _Stop_ , he thinks at once. _Remember what he did_ t _o you._

Monty looks down and tries to center himself back on the heartbreak, but something Miller said keeps coming back to him. _How can you act like all of those nights are null?_ It’s not even just the things that happened between them, it’s the way that Miller behaved then too. Even before they were together Miller had been kind to him, Miller had supported him, Miller had kept him alive.

 _It was all for show_ , Monty reminds himself.

“Miller,” he says, and Miller hums in response. “Why did you join the Militia?”

The air between them stills and it’s clear that Miller hadn’t been expecting this question. “Like I said,” he murmurs after a moment. “I was 17.” He takes a deep breath, shaking his head a bit. “They, uh--it was winter,” Miller says. Monty looks up to him again but finds Miller staring at the ground. “Something nasty was going around. I don’t--I don’t know. But my dad caught it, and the Militia had the medicine. We couldn’t afford it on our own and I knew I’d be able to get some if I joined and…”

“And you joined,” Monty concludes.

“Once you’re in the Militia,” Miller says, “there’s no going back. But time and time again I was able to use my position to keep my father safe and he’s the only family I’ve got left.” His voice is quiet when he says, “I don’t even know if he’s still alive now.”

“Miller--”

“But whatever,” he cuts Monty off, blinking hard. “No excuse, right?” He tips his head in Monty’s direction before he walks away without another word.

* * *

Another few weeks pass before it really starts to feel like a _community_. There are more families that arrive, farmers to help Jasper plow the field, architects that help secure the gates.

Monty and Raven and Sinclair have a breakthrough and bring consistent light to every home in the neighborhood. It’s a constant power source that lasts through the night and Monty gets to use his lightswitch. _His lightswitch_. It’s a goddamn miracle that he’s created with his own hands.

Their next task is powering the school, bringing back computers, screens to project on. Monty’s been tasked with going over and explaining all of this to Bellamy and Miller so they’re not angry when they have to shut down the building for a few days to check all of the wiring.

Monty’s there now but has paused in the doorway at the sight of Miller with a small child by his side. The two of them are looking at a book spread out between them and it’s almost enough to make Monty come undone. But he pauses, reminds himself he’s past this, and takes a moment to observe. “Sound it out for me,” Miller says gently, pointing to the word.

The little girl frowns. “Fah… Fahm… Family?”

“Yeah,” Miller says. “That’s great. You’re doing great.”

The girl huffs. “Mr. Nate,” she says. “Words are hard.”

He laughs. “Yeah, Dakota, words are hard. But the more we read them the more you’ll know them.” Monty leans against the doorframe as a smile finds his face. He wasn’t entirely sure about how Miller would work with the younger kids, he thought maybe Bellamy would be better, but maybe he was wrong. “What about this one?”

“Is,” Dakota answers. Miller moves his hand to point. “Mah...kuh. Mahkuh?”

“Make,” Miller says.

“What,” Dakota reads. “You... make it.” She looks up at Miller. “Family is what you make it,” she says, reading the line of the book back to him. “Right?”

“That’s right,” Miller says with a soft nod. “Really good, Dakota.”

“Like my family!” she says cheerfully. She pushes the book aside and beams, turning her full attention to Miller. “We’ve got little Johnny who’s not really my brother but is my brother now,” she says. “Because his parents are gone. And Mama, well, we don’t have Daddy anymore but Mama’s got Becca, and they love each other too. And we are what we make it!”

“Yeah, Dakota, that’s exactly right.” Monty knocks on the doorframe and the two of them look up to find him. “Hey,” Miller greets.

“Hey,” Monty returns. “Got a second.”

“Can I take this book?” Dakota asks, and Miller nods. She smiles real big before she rushes out of the room without another word, leaving Miller and Monty in the silence.

“You enjoying teaching?” Monty asks.

“That’s not why you’re here,” Miller returns, but there’s something familiar in it, something soft and teasey that makes Monty smile. This soft friendship between them, not much of anything but better than nothing, is where Monty likes it to be. “But yeah, I am. Already gave Murphy a list of books to get next time he’s out scavenging.”

“Cool.” Monty steps into the room. “The schoolhouse is our next project,” he says. “We’re going to need you all to evacuate for like, a week.”

“Are you offering your house as a temporary meeting space?” Miller asks, eyebrows arched. Monty laughs, and the beginnings of a smile find Miller’s face. “As long as the weather holds I think we’ll be okay to meet in the field. But the second it starts to get cloudy we’re moving into the Green residency.”

“Sure, Nate.”

They both pause. Miller clears his throat. Monty looks toward the floor. Where the hell did _that_ come from? “When do you want us out by?” Miller asks, and Monty struggles to find the words that he’s looking for.

“Couple days?”

“Sure. I’ll let Bellamy know.”

Monty hurries out of the room before he can even think about it.

* * *

“Just find someone else,” Jasper says that night with a shrug when Monty expresses his confusion surrounding Miller. They’re in the living room, Monty tinkering with something new while Jasper reads by lamp light. While the community may have light now, they’re trying to use as little of it as possible. “There’re plenty of people here to fill your time with. That’s your problem.”

“What’s my problem?” Monty mutters.

“You never had your rebound,” Jasper says. Monty rolls his eyes but Jasper sits up. “I’m serious, dude. The reason you’ve still got Miller on the brain is because you haven’t even tried moving on. You’ve let yourself be sad about it and it just lingers and you’re confused.”

Monty sighs, looking up toward his friend. “Am I being stupid?” he asks. “Miller still--I mean, I heard him talking with Bellamy. He still…”

“Wants to be with you?”

“Yeah,” Monty says. “And--I know I’ve been keeping him away but… he’s not the worst. Right?” Jasper’s quiet in response. “Jasper.”

“I like the guy,” he finally answers with a little shrug. “But all of your points are valid too. You started whatever it was you two had on lies and… I don’t know.”

Monty returns to tinkering. He tinkers for a full minute (he knows this because he counts in his head) before he says, “Miller says it wasn’t all lies.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I want to,” Monty admits.

Who is he kidding? He knows he can’t get Miller out of his head because he still _likes_ him. The friendship that they’ve developed in the quiet spaces makes Monty feel warm.

Monty’s still internally debating it when Jasper says, “Besides, he’s been with other people too.” Monty stills. “Bryan something. Jackson. I don’t know. He and Bellamy were talking about it the other day.” The first feeling that Monty can name is regret, the second is anger, but he isn’t sure if it’s at himself or at Miller. “You deserve to be with someone, too.”

“He’s been with other people,” Monty says.

Jasper nods, not looking up from his book. “Mm-hm.”

“I thought he still…” Monty trails off. “I mean I _heard_ him.”

“When was that?

Monty thinks. “I don’t--” he shakes his head. He can’t remember. Must’ve been a while ago at this point. Months, maybe. Toward the beginning of all of this at their new place. Maybe that’s all Miller actually wants, to be friends, and Monty is just operating under his own assumptions. Maybe Miller’s over him and this back and forth has been pointless. “Is he… _with_ this Bryan Jackson person?”

“I don’t know,” Jasper says. “I’m on Team Monty. So Miller and I aren’t really close.”

“Well there’s no point in me debating if I should give him another chance if he’s actually dating someone else,” Monty says, though it comes out like a snap. Jasper looks up at him with a frown. “Sorry. He makes me short-circuit.” Jasper’s frown deepens. “When the wires spark,” Monty elaborates tiredly.

“Right.”

* * *

Monty ends up at the bar the next night. He’s sitting between Raven and Clarke and tries to keep himself involved in their conversation, but keeps finding himself distracted. This community was his idea. This community was built from hopes and dreams and the hands of hardworking people and he deserves to find his own happiness in it.

So he drinks and he laughs with his friends and when the pretty girl who was only recently brought into the community at the end of the bar smiles at him, Monty smiles back.

He wakes up the next morning in her bed, and she offers to make him breakfast before he goes but Monty opts out. Her name is Michelle and she’s sweet and a nice enough girl but their conversations are minimally engaging and mostly she’s just excited over the fact that Monty is one of the founders of this place.

Later that week the same thing happens with someone else, a guy named Pat who thinks tech is the coolest and wants to learn all about it, but after sex it starts to feel a bit mentor/student-y and makes Monty feel weird.

He spends his time unabashedly flirting with whoever gives him the time of day. He hooks up with people who burn hickeys into his skin.

None of it makes him feel better.

“I can’t do the hooking up,” Monty tells Raven a few days later as they’re in their lab. Their next big project is security by the wall, which really should’ve been one of their first projects, but whatever. “It makes me feel weird.”

“Then stop hooking up with people and start going on real dates,” Raven returns, not bothering to look up. “Or go to the training center and beat up the punching bag until you feel better.”

Monty’s mouth quirks to the side. “Does that work?”

“Helps me,” Raven says with a shrug.

Monty goes to the training center the next day. He hears Miller’s voice before he can enter, which makes sense seeing at only the guards really use the training center, but the tone of it is sharp so Monty freezes in his step.

“It’s bullshit,” Miller snaps, and Monty feels small at once. “What the fuck is wrong with me, O?”

“Been trying to figure that out for years,” Octavia returns. Bellamy brought his sister to their settlement a few weeks ago, and while she wasn’t in the Militia herself she seems to be some sort of weird fighting assassin person who’s good at combat. “What do you want me to say, Miller?”

“I don’t know. Let’s go again.”

Octavia sighs but clearly takes position. Monty creeps around the corner to see the two of them engaged in hand-to-hand combat, ducking one another’s punches and scooping out their legs to know the other person to the ground. At one point Octavia literally slaps Miller’s hand away from her face.

“Don’t be petty,” she grounds out. He trips her to the mat moments later. The two of them are breathing heavy when she holds up her hands in defeat.

“I don’t have the right to be this fucking _angry_ ,” Miller exhales. The room is silent. Octavia a few paces away from him doesn’t push. “He doesn’t want me,” Miller says, and Monty feels it in his chest. Like his ribs are tighter than they’re supposed to be. Too tight and too cold. “That’s it. That’s all there is.”

“Life goes on,” Octavia says.

Miller scoffs. “Really helpful,” he mutters. Monty moves backwards and thunks his head against the wall. Their voices carry. “C’mon. Again.” There was more sounds of a scuffle, more sparring, before the sound of Octavia’s groan from her being knocked to the ground. “Are you even trying?” Miller snaps.

“Take it out on someone else, Miller,” Octavia snaps back. “People change. They want different things. Get over it.”

“I’m trying,” Miller growls. “Again.”

“I’m not going to be your punching bag,” Octavia mutters. “Monty moved on. It’s your turn.” He’s so _confused_. “You’re both adults. I don’t get why you’re dragging this out for so long.”

“I thought I was over him,” Miller says, and his voice sounds sad. No--he sounds _wrecked_. “It’s…” he trails off and Monty wants to hear the rest, but his voice grows quiet then. Quiet enough that it doesn’t carry into the next room.

He hears Octavia sigh before she says, “Yeah. I know.”

Monty doesn’t get any exercise that day.

* * *

Three days later, Monty’s in his lab when he looks up to see Miller entering.

Miller seems hesitant to even be there. It looks as though he’s trying his hardest not to be uncomfortable, which has him looking even _more_ uncomfortable. They haven’t seen each other in days, and Monty’s been avoiding him since he was eavesdropping in the gym.

“Hey,” Monty greets. He sits up in his chair a bit and glances around for Raven, finding her missing. He must’ve zoned out when she called it quits for the night. “What’s up?”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Miller finally says. “And I know I shouldn’t have.”

“You don’t bother me, Miller,” Monty says.

Miller hesitates. “We’re in a weird space,” he says. “We both know it.” Not quite friends, no longer strangers, with the remnants of something more lingering between them. “But I got you something.”

Monty’s eyebrows furrow. “You _got me_ something?” he repeats. “Like… a gift?” Miller digs into the bag slung over his shoulder and pulls out a small, thin piece of cardboard. He hesitates again before handing it over. “What is it?” Monty asks.

Miller’s eyes linger on the ground. “Jasper said you used to collect postcards,” he answers softly. “He said you, uh, you left your whole collection behind when you left your old settlement.” Monty’s been so caught up in the world, in the moving forward and this new settlement, that he hasn’t even _thought_ about postcards. “This one was pinned to the wall in Bellamy’s new place.”

Monty turns it over, lips parting at the sight of a long red bridge and the words _San Francisco_. “Where is this?” Monty rasps.

“California. Or--I mean, what used to be California.” Miller slips his hands into his pocket and shrugs a little. “I went once as a kid. Had family out there.”

Monty looks up at him briefly before focusing back on the card. “Think it’s still standing?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Miller admits. “Maybe.” There’s another pause. “That was my other idea,” he says, and then winces as though he regrets it. Monty looks up at him again, waiting. Without words, Monty says _what do you mean_? Miller swallows. “If I had to leave,” he finally says, eyes on the ground again. “If I couldn’t stay here. I’d travel. Head West. See stuff.”

“Stuff,” Monty echoes.

“Find an old national monument tour book, or something,” Miller says with a nod. “I just--sorry. I thought you’d like it.”

“I do!” he says. Miller’s mouth quirks to the side, almost a smile, and Monty savors it. Before Miller can leave he asks, “Are we okay?”

“What do you mean?” Miller returns.

Monty wets his lips as he tries to think about what he wants to say. Miller lingers. “I never should’ve been so hard on you,” Monty finally says. Miller stays put. “In the middle of everything,” he says, “finding out about you and the Militia it just--it felt heavier then.”

“You feel how you feel,” Miller says with a shrug. “We’re okay, Monty. Really.”

“I don’t like it,” Monty blurts before Miller can leave the room. “I don’t--I don’t like this, Nate.”

“Don’t,” Miller says, turning back to face him. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m so confused these days,” Monty carries on, suddenly overwhelmed with _something_ he can’t name, something that makes him feel desperate. But Miller just gave him a fucking _postcard_ and he can’t even breathe. “I just…” Monty rasps, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about you.”

“How you’re _supposed_ to feel?” Miller echoes, face riddled with hurt. “It doesn’t matter how you’re _supposed_ to feel! What matters is how you _do_ feel.” Miller strides back toward him as Monty pushes himself to his feet. There’s silence between them for a long time before Miller shakes his head. “Do you want to be with me?” he asks slowly.

“I…”

“No,” Miller interrupts. “Don’t think. Just answer. Do you want to be with me?”

“Yes! But--”

“But what?”

“But you _hurt_ me,” Monty nearly gasps. Monty unfurls his fists and ducks his head, shaking it slightly. “You hurt me,” he says again. “And I know--God--you’ve--Nate, I know you’ve more than made up for it. And I believe that you’re--sorry. But it still--it still _hurt_.”

Slowly, slowly, Miller closes in on him. “I know,” Miller murmurs. He drops his bag from his shoulder and reaches out, cupping Monty’s cheek. “I know I hurt you and if I could--God if I could change it I would. But I _can’t_.” Monty closes his eyes and feels Miller reach up, brushing his thumb under his eye, and--fuck, is he _crying_? Has all of their distance and their pushing back and forth led to this? “All I can do is be sorry,” Miller whispers. “And be better. And I’m trying. I’m trying so fucking hard, Monty.”

“I know,” he whispers back. Monty sniffles before leaning into Miller hand. He listens to him sigh. “I don’t know what to do,” Monty tells him weakly. He’d tried latching onto the belief that because Miller was in the Militia that he was awful but it isn’t true. It just simply isn’t true. Miller leans in, brushing his nose against Monty, and waits silently. No pushing, no prying, no suggestions of one way or the other. Finally, Monty opens his eyes and Miller’s there, just out of reach. “I want to kiss you,” Monty rasps.

“Then kiss me.” Monty presses himself onto his toes and meets Miller’s mouth again and everything falls away. “I’ll be better,” Miller swears between their lips. “I’ll be better for you.”

 _You are,_ Monty thinks.

Monty clutches him closer, fingers digging into Miller’s sides, and Monty _wants_. He wants this so badly. He wants this with Miller, this future that they whispered about on the nights they were after Jasper. He wants to wake up with this man and teach children about chemistry and old technology and he wants to make a place that feels safe and warm where people can grow and reach the potential Monty never thought he’d be able to. He wants to feel warm like this all the time, in the arms of a man that he cares about so deeply.

He wants Nate.

“Monty,” Nate murmurs, pulling back.

“Come home with me.”

“ _Monty_.” His voice aches, but Monty holds his gaze, and when Nate nods they hurry hand-in-hand toward Monty’s place.

It’s evening and the streetlights are starting to flicker on and there’s something magical about the entire scene. Children across the street are laughing and Monty feels an urgency to have his hands on Nate again. He’s wasted so much time being an idiot and he needs to feel this man pressed against him.

Monty fumbles backwards for the doorknob of his home and drags Nate inside, clutching him close to kiss him again. Nate slots his leg between Monty’s and rocks forward and sparks flare up in Monty’s chest, making him hot in ways he wasn’t prepared for. When Nate starts kissing down Monty’s neck, his scruff against Monty’s skin, Monty’s head thunks backwards against the door. Belatedly, he tries to think about where Jasper is, but he’s probably out in the fields still.

“Monty,” Nate says again, and Monty’s at his mercy to listen. “Clarke said you’ve been--I just…” he trails off but keep sucking marks into Monty’s throat. “I can’t be one of them,” he whispers.

“Who?” Nate pulls back, eyes dark. “This isn’t a hookup,” Monty says firmly, understanding.

They pause against the door and breathe. They just breathe. They hold one another’s eyes and those questions are there, Monty can see them clear as day.

_Are you sure? You won’t change your mind again?_

Monty kisses him again, deep and slow, and feels Nate melt around him. “Upstairs,” Monty exhales. Nate hesitates but Monty kisses him again, firmly, _surely_ , and together they head for the staircase.

Everything Nate does, he does it carefully. Every time he leans in to kiss Monty there’s a touch of hesitation, like he’s afraid, so Monty kisses him back as much as he can to convey what words won’t.

_I’m sure, I’m sure, I’m sure._

Monty’s missed this so much. There’s something so steadying and grounding about Nate that makes Monty feel desperate. They make it into Monty’s room before Jasper gets home, the door slamming shut behind them, and this is where Monty meets Nate all over gain. His smile comes back, nervous but bright. His laughter returns, shaky but brilliant.

They kiss like these months apart have only been moments.

But when Monty’s hands tug on the hem of Nate’s shirt, the air between them stills. Monty’s eyes flicker to Nate’s chest, where his mark will be. “It’s okay,” Monty says. He watches Nate swallow, watches Nate’s eyes grow remorseful when just moments ago they’d been full of peace. “Here,” Monty whispers.

His fingers work against the buttons of Nate’s shirt quickly, nimbly. Nate’s holding his breath. Monty pushes his shirt up and backwards, over his shoulders, and there it is. The scar from the branding iron, a series of stars that Monty doesn’t understand. All is quiet between them before Monty reaches up, brushing his fingertips over it.

“What’s your rank?” Monty asks.

“Lieutenant,” Nate answers roughly. There’s a pause. “Ex-Lieutenant,” he corrects.

“I didn’t realize that you’re that high up,” Monty says.

“ _Was_ that high up,” Nate says again. “Now I’m nothing.”

“That’s not true,” Monty murmurs. Nate won’t meet his eyes. “You’re important here. We need you here.”

“This place could run without me,” he says.

“Nate.”

“I was Bellamy’s second,” he carries on, trying to change the subject, and Monty lets it slide. For now. If he wants to move on, Monty will let him. He’s spent too long holding this against him.

“Bellamy was a Captain?” Monty asks, and Nate nods. “We’ve got some powerful people in this place, huh?” Nate closes his eyes and Monty leans forward, pressing a kiss to his rank. “It’s in the past,” he murmurs.

“Monty…” Another kiss, another, rapidly in the same area, until Nate cups his cheeks and yanks him upwards so they can really kiss. “I know you hate it,” Nate rasps.

“You can’t change it now.”

“ _Monty_.” Nate’s said his name so many times tonight, each with a different degree of worry or fear. “Please, I--”

“What do you need?” Monty asks.

Nate opens and closes his mouth a few times. “Forgiveness,” he whispers. “I need forgiveness.”

“Nate,” Monty whispers back, realizing it’s true as the words come from him, “you’re forgiven.” Nate’s eyes water and he looks at Monty like he doesn’t deserve this moment when he does. “Time and time again I’ve shut you down and you kept--you’ve brought so much to this place.” Nate leans forward, his forehead against Monty’s while his eyes fall shut, but Monty keeps talking. “You care about this place and these people and-- _and me_ even though I don’t deserve it,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. I’m--”

Nate kisses him again, stopping his apologizes before the can fully manifest, and drags Monty backwards toward his bed.

* * *

They spend their night wrapped around one another, trading kisses like they need them to survive, whispering like they’re huddled around a campfire once more. Nate talks about the things he’s done in the Militia that he regrets, the things that give him nightmares, the terrors that he’s running from by being in this place. He talks about his father who he misses more than anything. He tells Monty his story until his mouth is dry, until Monty understands.

Monty talks too, sharing his joy of finding this place and building something new, his joy of watching Nate with the kids at school. He apologizes again and again until Nate can’t take it anymore, shutting him up with kisses Monty’s sure he doesn’t deserve. They fall asleep together.

In the morning, Monty wakes up with Nate wound around him and for the first time in a long time, he can breathe. The sun is shining through their thin curtains and he can hear Jasper outside already, working in the nearby field with a steady _thunk-kssh_ of the tools in the earth, and Nate’s _wound around him_. Monty nuzzles backwards, closer, and Nate sighs, tightening his grip.

“Morning,” Nate murmurs.

“It is,” Monty agrees.

He can feel Nate smile against his neck. “Sleep okay?” Nate wonders.

“You’ve no idea.” Nate’s mouth opens, his smile widening, and Monty can feel it all. It makes him breathless--makes his chest explode with flames. “Did you?” he asks.

“Mm. Of course.” There’s a pause. “I like you,” he exhales. Monty turns in his arms, his nose bumping against Nate’s chin. “So much,” Nate tells him softly. “I want to do this right this time. No secrets.”

“No secrets,” Monty agrees. “I like you too. I want to know everything about the Nathan Miller who--” Monty cuts himself off when his eyes snag on something missing.

Monty sits up in a rush and Nate pulls back, face contorting with confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Where is it?” he bursts.

Nate frowns, sitting up slowly. “Where’s what?”

“The _pendant_ ,” Monty snaps, forcing himself out of bed to scramble by his nightstand. “It was on the table last night!” He rears around at once, eyes narrowed in Nate’s direction. He took it off last night once they’d gotten in bed. With their new system they had to alternate the pendants in use and Monty wore his around his neck when he had it. “What’d you do with it?”

“Me?”

“Come on, Miller,” he says, urgency in his voice, angry tears suddenly burning his eyes. Something feels jilted and off balance and wrong, so quickly and so suddenly that Monty can’t breathe. “Why else would you keep coming back to me like you actually--” Monty’s voice breaks off when the sound of a radio playing filters through the open window. He spins on his heel at once and hurries until he’s looking outside. There the pendant sits, shining in the sun, hanging off of an old stereo in their lab across the street Raven’s garage as she tinkers away.

Relief floods him at once. She must’ve snuck in and grabbed it this morning--sometimes she does that when she can’t sleep and she’s awake before Monty is. Jasper will let her in. And they both slept so soundly last night that of course they wouldn’t have heard anyone come in. The pendant is safe. All he has left of his family is safe.

The bed creaks.

Monty swallows, turning around to find Nate with his eyebrows furrowed and true sadness on his face. “Nate,” Monty starts slowly.

“Save it,” he murmurs. The sadness is there too, thick in his voice. “I thought last night… But you still don’t trust me.”

“No,” Monty hurries. “No, I--fuck. Shit. That’s not it.”

Nate looks up at him. “That’s not it?” he echoes. More sadness in his eyes. He’s not even going to fight? He’s just going to accept this? No. “Okay Monty.”

“ _No_ ,” he tries again, settling back onto the edge of the bed. But Nate’s already pushing the sheets off of himself, scrubbing his hands over his face and still shaking his head. “Nate, it’s not _you_ ,” he says. “Can we just--go back to five minutes ago, when--”

“No,” Nate cuts him off. “We can’t.” Guilt settles in Monty’s stomach and his shoulders slump as he watches Nate stand. He grabs the t-shirt he pulled off last night from the floor and heads slowly toward the door. Nate hesitates, letting out a long breath. “I’ll be with Bellamy all morning,” he says. “Working on securing the guard rotation and the gate.”

“ _Nate_ ,” Monty nearly pleads. “It’s not you,” he says again. “When it comes to that pendant I just--”

“If it had been missing this morning,” Nate cuts him off another time, “and I hadn’t been in bed with you, who would you first have thought took it?” he asks. The silence drags on and Monty drops his gaze, ashamed. “You don’t trust me,” Nate says again. “It’s that simple. I left my--” his voice cracks and turns sharp. “I left everything I _know_ for this!” Nate bursts. “My family, my friends, my _life_ , Monty. For this--this _dream_ this hope that we could--that I could help rebuild society softly, without aggression or war and I could _be_ with _you_ and I just…” he trails off, shaking his head. “I thought you knew why I was here.”

“Nate, I _do_ ,” Monty insists. He moves to his feet and Nate lingers in the doorway. “I do,” he repeats. He reaches out, catching Nate’s hands, and squeezes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “That pendant makes me crazy. It’s all I’ve got left.”

“I thought last night was good. I thought I knew what that meant.”

“It was--Nate--”

“I can’t do this anymore.” He yanks his hands out of Monty’s and shakes his head, sadness in his eyes. “Every time I think I’m getting somewhere with you…” he laughs, then, empty and sad. “I’m not.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is true,” Nate snaps. “I’ve been patient. And I’ve given you your space. And I’ve tried to get over you, and I just…” he lets out a short breath. “I can’t be here,” Nate says, almost so softly that Monty doesn’t hear him. Monty steps closer and Nate keeps his eyes on the ground. “I have to go.”

“Go _where_?” Monty pushes.

“Monty--”

“No, don’t…” Monty steps toward him again, hands on Nate’s wrists. “Don’t do this. I made a mistake, Nate.”

“I’ve given you your time,” Nate says, twisting his arms so his hands are by his side again. “I waited for your choice and I thought--I’d _hoped_ …” He shakes his head. “It’s not--it’s clearly not working. Or maybe it’s just not right. Maybe we’re not right.”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

Nate doesn’t object. He’s just quite. “I’ve got to leave..”

“ _Nate--_ ”

“At least for a month or so,” he carries on. “You need your space. And--you know what? Fuck it, I need mine.” Monty opens his mouth to protest again but Nate wheels around at once. “You always say that I hurt you,” Nate rasps, and--oh _God_ , he sounds broken. “But Monty, you fucking ruin me. Okay?” His eyes are wet and he shakes his head while Monty feels all of his energy sapping out of him. “I’ve done my penance, I’ve said my apologies, and I’m tired of you taking everything that I give you and throwing it away.”

“Nate, I won’t, I--”

But Nate doesn’t say anything else. He just turn and hurries away, the sound of his heavy footsteps pounding down the staircase as his only response.

Monty doesn’t move until he hears the front door shut. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he just can’t. He’s frozen. He’s frozen to the point where everything inside of him hurts so much he can’t even breathe. He opens and closes his mouth as though he’s trying to figure out what to say to himself but he comes up empty. He’s so fucking empty.

Before he knows what he’s doing he’s pulling on his own clothes and he sprints across the neighborhood to Clarke’s place. It’s early, he knows it’s early, but he’s banging on the door before he can stop himself and she opens it just as quickly.

“Monty?”

He pushes his way inside without a word and makes his way to her living room. Monty lowers himself onto Clarke’s couch and drops his head into his hands. “I made a mistake,” he rasps. Clarke lingers in the doorway. “I--God, I really fucked up, Clarke.”

She remains quiet, maybe giving him a chance to explain without pushing, but finally she clears her throat. “With Miller?” There’s a pause before she adds, “I saw him leave your place.”

“It was going so well,” Monty croaks. “I just--I wasn’t thinking and I--”

“What’d you do?” she asks.

Monty tugs on his hair. “I…” he trails off. God, how could he be so stupid?

“Monty,” Clarke says sadly.

“I wasn’t thinking!” he bursts, curling further into himself. “I panicked and we’d been talking about Militia all night and then he said that he was _leaving_ and I mean _leaving_ , Clarke, and--” he takes a deep breath. “I accused him of taking my pendant.”

“You _what_?” Bellamy snaps. Monty jerks back, eyes open, finding Bellamy standing right behind Clarke. How long has he been there? How much as he heard? “After everything he’s done for you,” he growls, “this is how you repay him?” Monty’s never seen Bellamy like this. “He’s--Monty, he--!” There’s an accusation here somewhere that Bellamy won’t latch onto. “Where is he?”

“Bellamy--”

“ _Where is he?”_ he demands. There’s anger in his eyes, sadness, betrayal, all of it too overwhelming. Before Monty can answer Bellamy reaches up, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God. Fuck.” He turns and marches from the home, letting the door slam shut behind him.

Clarke’s home is quiet in his absence. Monty feels his eyes well up. “I made a mistake,” he says again. “And he wouldn’t listen to me explain.”

With a deep breath, Clarke crosses the room and sits on the couch beside him. “You know how he feels about you,” she says gently. “He’s tired of these games, Monty.”

“It’s not a game,” he croaks. “It’s--it was the last thing my mom gave me before she died. It was the whole _reason_ my dad died. I saw that it was gone and I didn’t even think I just panicked.” Clarke reaches out, grabbing Monty’s hand, and squeezes once. “I know that I’ve been awful to him,” Monty carries on. His voice sounds wrecked, weepy. “I know I fucked up. But he wouldn’t listen.” Clarke reaches out with her free arm then and pulls Monty close. “Last night was so good,” he cries, letting his tears fall. “I really thought--I was ready, Clarke. I thought I was ready.”

“Maybe him leaving for a bit is a good thing,” she says, stroking his back.

“I don’t want him to leave,” Monty murmurs.

“He’ll be back.”

“I can’t expect him to wait for me to get my shit together,” Monty says, pulling back. He wipes at his eyes and keeps his gaze downcast, looking toward Clarke’s shoulders. “I want to be with him,” he says firmly. He’s known this for a long time despite the fact that he’s denied it for so long and tried to fight it off. Monty sniffles, shaking his head. “I know he’s different,” he says. “I know that I was wrong about everything. I just can’t--how do I prove that to him?”

“You let him leave,” Clarke says softly.

Monty’s eyes well up again, but he nods.

* * *

When Nate said he was leaving, Monty didn’t realize how quickly the turnaround was going to be. The next morning Nate’s standing by the gate of the community with his travel bag. Bellamy’s there too, talking to him lowly, sounding sad, but he falls quiet as Monty approaches.

Nate holds his gaze and, for once, Monty doesn’t see the defensiveness. He was right. He’s done his penance and said his apologies, there’s no need to be defensive anymore.

“You could’ve given us some more warning,” Monty says, trying to make a joke, and thankfully Nate’s mouth quirks to the side in the beginnings of a smile. “Allowed us to give you a send-off, or something.”

Nate lets out a short breath. “I’ve been thinking about this for awhile,” he admits. “My dad’s out there.” Monty nods and Bellamy exhales deeply, stepping backwards to give them space. “I don’t know what else I have to do,” Nate says to him. “But I don’t think I have it in me to keep trying, Monty.”

“You don’t have to do anything else,” Monty says. He needs Nate to know this. “I’m going to wait for you,” Monty tells him. Nate looks up, their eyes meeting briefly, before he looks away again. “I mean it, Nate.”

“You don’t have to,” he says.

“I want to.”

Nate takes a deep breath. “Monty.” It sounds like the beginning of a speech, of something else, but Nate doesn’t say anything. He just looks at Monty with these sad, broken eyes. He doesn’t even nod or shake his head. He just stands there, looking at him. “I don’t know when I’ll be back,” he says. “Or if I’ll be back.”

“Please come back,” Monty whispers. Finally, Nate looks away again. “Nate,” he pleads. “I’ll say it a million times. I was wrong. I made a mistake.”

“I know all about that,” he murmurs.

Monty reaches for him and when their hands touch, Nate looks up. “You said that all you knew to do was to be better,” Monty says. “And you have been. And now it’s my turn.” He brushes his thumbs over Nate’s knuckles. “I’ll be better,” he promises. “Give me that chance.”

Nate lets go of Monty’s hands. He sounds wrecked when he says, “I already have.” He steps backward, shaking his head. “I have to go.” Monty doesn’t call out for him again. He presses his lips firmly together and nods. “Tell the others,” Nate says to Bellamy, who nods in response. Nate looks up to whoever’s at the top of the stand and waves his hand, and soon the gates are buzzing open.

 _Wait_ , Monty thinks as Nate walks away.

But then he’s gone, and the gate buzzes shut with the two of them on opposite sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whatever miller's bad at feelings so he runs way it's cool because same me too


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this fic for annie for her birthday (this fic was way late) but i just wanted to let you all know that i literally love annie more than anything so YEAH take that

As much as Monty wants to barricade himself in his room and blame himself for how things turned out, he knows it’s not the way. Instead he throws himself into his work with Raven and Sinclair and widens the radius the pendant gives them every day.

It takes some time before Monty starts to forgive himself for his reaction that one morning with Nate.

While Monty’s accusations were uncalled for, so was, Monty thinks, Nate’s absolute rejection of an apology. No matter how good their night was, how small the barriers had become between them, there were still walls. Despite what he said, the Militia still makes Monty anxious. And despite what has changed, Nate’s been kept at an arm's length because of the decision he made forever ago.

They have to learn to accept that about one another. That Monty will always hold some fear in his heart. That Nate will always take the defensive about his choices.

When Nate returns, Monty will tell him this. That it will never be like it was before, but it can still be good. That they can still be together if they take these things about each other and acknowledge it. In the meantime, Monty will work so that when Nate returns, this place will glow as he promised.

A week or so after Nate leaves Monty finds himself at the bar with Clarke and Bellamy. As expected, Bellamy hasn’t spoken with Monty ever since Nate’s decision to leave, but Monty’s been trying his best to bridge things between them.

“Have you heard from him?” Monty finally asks. Bellamy sips from his glass. “Nate,” Monty elaborates. “C’mon, Bellamy.”

“I haven’t,” Bellamy says. “Miller wouldn’t send anything here even if he wanted to, it’s too risky. He knows that.” Monty exhales, sinking down in his seat a bit. He fiddles with his own glass. “You know he might not ever come back,” Bellamy says slowly. “Right? That’s processed for you?”

“Of course he’ll be back,” Clarke mutters.

“Don’t coddle him,” Bellamy says sternly, directing his attention to Clarke. “He needs to know. He needs to understand.” Clarke keeps her eyes downward as Bellamy turns back to Monty. “It’s not that Miller wouldn’t want to come back,” Bellamy explains. “He does. It’s that if Militia catches him, they’re going to kill him.”

Monty swallows. “What?”

“That’s protocol for defectors,” Bellamy says. “Electroshock therapy to try and get them to cooperate but it usually fries them, and Miller won’t bend even if it doesn’t.”

“And you let him go?” he demands. This brings about a new urgency to Monty that he hadn’t realized he was supposed to have. Electroshock therapy? Nate never mentioned that.

Bellamy looks up at him. “You think I didn’t beg him to stay?” he snaps. “That whole fucking day I was trying to talk some sense into him. He wanted to leave.” Monty holds his gaze. “He wanted to find his father. Who might be dead. Because of the Militia. And he needed to leave here for a bit. Because of you. And no matter what I said, he wouldn’t--”

“Bellamy,” Clarke cuts him off sharply. “Enough.”

Bellamy hangs his head. Silence follows. The guilt inside Monty’s stomach is overwhelming. “He’s my best friend,” Bellamy croaks. Monty looks over, surprised to find the man with tears in his eyes. Monty feels his own eyes welling up and he’s frustrated with how much he’s been aching in the past few days. “He’s the whole reason I’m even here. If anything happens to him…”

“We’re all worried,” Clarke murmurs. She grabs Bellamy’s hand in her own. “Monty’s beating himself up too. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy rasps. “Fuck.” He looks up, still looking wrecked. “I’m sorry,” he says, so genuinely Monty knows he really is. “This isn’t your fault, Monty. I’m being an asshole.”

“You are,” Clarke agrees.

“It feels like my fault,” Monty admits.

Bellamy drags his hands over his face. “Miller’s my best friend,” Bellamy says again. “I’ve always chosen his side in this--in this fight that you two have had. I hate seeing him hate himself over a choice he made when he was a teenager and you fed into that and I hated it. But he--fuck, Monty, he really cares about you. And you’re a good guy.”

Monty’s not sure where this sudden change of heart is coming from, but perhaps the fear of Nate’s fate has them all a little emotional.

“I know that being in the Militia doesn’t make you a bad person,” Monty says quietly. Bellamy looks up at him, he can feel it, but now Monty’s stuck looking down. “I’ve known it for awhile. It’s just hard to take all those years of fear and anger and change my perception on it.”

“I know,” Bellamy says.

“I’m working on it.”

Bellamy exhales, shaking his head. “Miller was looking for a reason to go after his dad for awhile now,” he admits. “It’s been in his mind ever since we got here but I think--personally I think the combination of everything just made now the right moment.”

“We should’ve gone with him,” Clarke murmurs.

“All we can do now is hope that he makes it back alive.”

* * *

Nate makes it back alive four months later.

Four months.

Monty’s in the middle of showing the younger kids an experiment with magnets (he teaches some science on the side now, okay?) when Bellamy ducks his head into Monty’s classroom.

“He’s back,” he says.

Monty drops the magnets in his hand and because of the repelling force, they fly across the room. “What?”

“Miller,” Bellamy says. “They just buzzed him in at the gate.”

Monty has enough decency not to flee the classroom right away, but he fumbles his way through the rest of his lesson and cuts it way shorter than he was preparing for. When his last student is gone he sprints from the schoolhouse toward the gate where a small crowd has formed in what must be a welcome committee. Monty tries not to shove his way through but he can’t help himself.

Once he gets to the center, though, Nate’s not there. His father is.

They look similar enough that even without Bellamy animatedly talking by his side Monty would’ve been able to figure it out. But still. There’s a hand on his shoulder and he startles, finding Raven there.

“Miller went with Clarke.”

“Where?” he asks. “Why?”

She hesitates. “The med center,” Raven tells him. “He didn’t look so good.” Monty turns on his heel and sprints. “Monty!” she calls after him, but he’s running. It’s been four months too long, four months too afraid of what’s happened, four months of regret and frustration he couldn’t sort out.

When he gets to the medical center he throws open the door without hesitation, finding Nate sitting up on one of the beds with Clarke dabbing at his forehead. “Really,” he’s saying, his voice rough. “I’m fine, Griffin. Quit it.”

At the sound of the door they both turn, Clarke with her eyes narrowed and Nate probably unable to even see who it is in the doorway. He has two blackened eyes that are swollen and a gash down his forehead that looks like it’s been healing for days. His skin is purpled and green and there’s a cut on his lower lip.

“He needs to rest Monty,” Clarke says pointedly. “Out.”

“Nate--”

“ _Out_!” she snaps, rushing forward and pushing Monty out the door before Nate can even respond. He listens to Clarke lock the door and that’s it. Monty’s on the other side without Nate once more.

* * *

Despite his constant pacing outside of the medical center, Clarke doesn’t let him inside. Monty debates breaking a window to get in but knows that’s more trouble than it’s worth so ultimately decides against it. The only people who _do_ get inside are Bellamy and David, Nate’s dad, but they never stay for too long.

“Is it because he doesn’t want me to see him like that?” Monty asks Clarke one afternoon. “I don’t care. I just want to see him.”

“He’s very weak, Monty,” Clarke says. “He’s mostly sleeping.”

His frustration bubbles up in his chest whenever she writes him off like this, because Monty doesn’t care. He’d _pay_ Clarke to sit by Nate’s bedside without any interaction between them.

Monty finds out a couple days later that it’s more than the mess of his face. “They burned his Militia marks off,” Bellamy tells him. “His wrist _and_ his rank. If burns like that aren’t treated properly they get infected. Clarke doesn’t want it to spread any more than it has.”

That’s how Monty finds out that Nate was captured by the Militia for at least some duration of time. He wonders about electroshock therapy that Bellamy mentioned back at the beginning of all of this. He wonders about the lonely nights that Nate had to endure, the moments that must’ve been dark and black and terrifying. He wonders if Nate thought about him at all, if Nate wants nothing to do with Monty whatsoever or if he’s forgiven him for his mistakes.

Monty just wants to see him.

Ten days after Nate and his dad make it back home, Monty finally finds the door to the medical center unlocked. He enters slowly, more nervous than anything, and finds Nate in the same bed he was when he first got there. The swelling on his face has gone down tremendously but the bruises linger. He turns his head as Monty enters and the ghost of a smile finds his face.

“Hey,” he greets.

“I’ve been trying to see you for days,” Monty says, rushing forward. Nate ducks his head, his smile growing, but it looks sad. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like shit,” he says. Nate coughs a bit before shrugging. “Clarke says I’m in the clear. She wants me in here another week though so she can monitor me.”

Monty can’t stop looking at him. Despite the signs of struggle that paint his face, he looks the same. Bright eyes and long eyelashes and gentle stubble. He slowly lowers himself into the seat by Nate’s bunk. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to make it back,” Monty says.

Nate coughs again. “Yeah, me too. But by the time they found me I’d already gotten my dad, so I had some backup.” He relaxes backwards in his seat and lets out a long breath. Nate looks at Monty like he’s never been more exhausted. “People know this place exists,” Nate says. “They’re calling it the City of Light.”

Monty laughs before he can stop it. “Really? That’s dumb.”

“I mean, we do have light,” Nate points out, but his smile is back too. “Are we fortified enough?”

“We had a couple of attacks while you were gone,” Monty says, “but our defenses held. Raven and I are making them better every day.”

There was one night, after an attack, when Jasper and Monty stayed up through the night listening to gunfire. “Maybe Miller said something,” Jasper whispered, afraid, and Monty shook his head.

“Nate wouldn’t do that to us,” he’d responded sharply. And he meant it.

Nate nods. “Good. Good.” They’re both quiet for a moment and Monty knows he wants to say something but can’t figure out the words. Before he even gets the chance, Nate’s speaking again. “I should rest,” he says.

“Then rest.”

“You should go,” Nate clarifies.

Monty presses his lips together tightly. “You told Clarke to keep me away,” he says, and Nate’s lack of confirmation is confirmation enough. “I told you that I’d wait for you,” Monty says.

“I told you that you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. And if you’ve--if you want to be with someone else--”

“I was,” Nate cuts him off. Monty’s not prepared for the way his heart breaks. “While I was away. There was someone else.” Monty opens and closes his mouth, trying to figure out how to respond. “We traveled to Baltimore together,” Nate carries on, his voice even.

“Like we traveled to Chicago?” Monty asks, not caring how sad he sounds.

“No. You were a mission. He wasn’t.”

If Monty thought his heart had broken before he hadn’t anticipated the way it shatters now. He looks down, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re just saying that,” he manages. “You’re saying that because I hurt you. So you’re trying to hurt me.”

“No,” Nate says. “I’m being honest with you because I think that you deserve honesty.” Monty blinks hard, shaking his head just a touch. “You should go,” Nate says again.

“Did you bring him here?” Monty asks, looking up. Did this man sneak in under Monty’s radar? “Are you two still together?”

“No,” Nate says. “He stayed in Baltimore.”

“You didn’t invite him to come back?”

“No.” They hold one another’s gaze for a long time before Nate looks away. Monty knows what this means, even if Nate won’t say it. That whoever he was, this stranger, he wasn’t what Nate wanted. If he was, Nate would’ve brought him back to this place or invited him to come in the future. He kept this settlement a secret because the other man didn’t hold his heart. “I should sleep.”

“Nate…” Monty trails off. “I’ve missed you,” he says. “I’m… I’m happy that you’re here.” Monty swallows, looking for the words. “Relieved, mostly. I just--I’ve missed you.”

Nate takes a deep breath. “I’ve missed you too.” Monty sits up and reaches for Nate’s hand, and thankfully he lets Monty twist their fingers together. “More than I wanted to,” Nate says. Monty wants to press his lips to Nate’s knuckles. He wants to frame Nate’s face with his hands and pull him into a kiss. “But I don’t want to do this, Monty.”

Monty doesn’t let go of his hand. “Ever?” he asks. Nate doesn’t answer right away, which gives Monty hope, so he leans forward and presses a kiss to Nate’s knuckles anyway. “I’ll let you rest,” he says.

When he leaves Nate this time, compared to all the rest, he feels like they still might have a chance.

* * *

When Nate’s finally allowed out of the medical center, he spends a lot of time outdoors with his dad. Monty loves it. He loves watching Nate and his father together, walking through the streets, laughing at quiet jokes they must be sharing. Monty’s spoken with David a few times and, though they were always short, they were good interactions.

He doesn’t have his first real conversation with David until Monty’s in his lab, tinkering away, and David enters looking sheepish.

“Lost?” Monty asks, looking up from where he’s tinkering.

“Just exploring,” David tells him, looking around the room. “I um, worked at a tech store when I was a teenager,” he says. “Selling VCR players, things like that. I’ve just been dying to see how we’ve progressed since then.”

Monty smiles, leaning back. “VCR?”

“The movie players,” David elaborates, and Monty nods in memory. “Nathan’s been urging me to poke my head in. Sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

“Never, sir,” Monty says, looking back to his work. He continues with his plan while David scans the area. “Have you been doing well? Liking it okay here?”

“Oh, of course,” David says, still browsing. “It’s been an adjustment. But honestly, it wouldn’t matter where I was now that I have my son back.” Monty’s hands still. He looks up slowly. “He spoke about you often on our journey here,” David says.

Monty ducks his head. “Nothing good, I’m sure.”

“Nothing _but_ good,” David corrects, confusion in his voice. Monty looks up again. “The man with a dream who worked hard to make it happen. The man with the magic.” David laughs a little. “Nate’s never been very good at putting his feelings into words but it’s clear he cares about you. And how can he not, seeing all you’ve given him.”

Monty manages a laugh too, but it’s mostly in surprise. “I feel like I haven’t given him anything but a hard time he didn’t ask for,” Monty says.

“You got him away from the Militia, Monty. You gave him hope again.”

“That wasn’t just me,” Monty says, shaking his head. It was everyone working together to make this happen. “And I’m not… responsible, for this. I couldn’t have even done it without all that Nate did for me.” David stops on the other end of Monty’s work station, just looking at him. Monty wants to say something else about Nate, but he also knows he should leave the air clear. Confessing to David how he feels about Nate isn’t going to do anything. So instead he just asks, “Want to see how it works?”

David’s face lights up.

Nate finds them there about an hour later, Monty tinkering away, explaining the mechanics of the pendant while David fiddles with electricity of his own. He’s no Sinclair or tech guru but he seems to be having a good time, and there’s nothing better than that.

Nate enters with his eyebrows furrowed but a smile on his face when he spots them. “Having fun?” he asks.

He looks better, his bruises nearly gone. Having him close like this reminds Monty how much he misses him. “I like this Monty here,” David says, standing as though he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Monty laughs before he can help himself. “Very patient.”

Monty laughs again. “Sure, David. If you say so.”

“You could stand to learn something about patience, Nathan,” David says to his son. Nate rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. He looks back to Monty with a smile of his own. “Thank you for today,” David says, and Monty nods. “Are your parents here?” he asks. “I’d love to meet them. I’m sure they know, but they should be reminded how good their son is.”

“Oh, thank you,” Monty says, feeling his face heat up. “But no. They’ve both passed.”

David reaches out, his hand on Monty’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says gently. “They’d be proud.”

“I would hope so,” Monty responds softly. Nate’s smile shifts into something sad, but he nods along with his father. “It was nice having you stop in. Feel free to come back whenever.”

“Careful,” Nate says, stepping backwards as his father heads toward the door. “He might actually take you up on that offer.” Monty manages another smile as David exits the workshop, but Nate lingers by the door. “If he bothers you…” Nate starts.

“Your dad’s great. He doesn’t bother me.” Nate nods, but he looks hesitant. “If you don’t want your dad hanging out with me then I’ll have him leave next time,” Monty says. “I know how it is for you,” Monty says. “If you want more separation--”

“No,” Nate cuts him off. “No, if he’s happy and not disturbing you then that’s all that matters.” Monty expects him to leave after that, but still he lingers, and Monty isn’t sure if he should go back to work or say something else. “I’ll uh, I’ll see you around,” Nate finally forces out, and Monty nods, offering him a smile.

* * *

Monty’s side-gig of teaching at the school isn’t every day, it’s more like once every couple of weeks. He loves doing chemistry things with them and showing them the joys of technology (they are the future, after all), but keeping their settlement running is the main priority.

Still, when he shows up at the schoolhouse, Nate looks surprised to see him. “Do you need something?” he asks as Monty enters with his kit.

“Hm? No. Didn’t Bellamy tell you?” Monty asks. Nate’s face wrinkles as Monty starts setting up. “I come in every once in a while and do science stuff. I know you’re looking for full time person but I like kids and science so Bellamy has me over in the meantime.” Nate’s eyebrows shoot up as he absorbs this and he nods, leaving Monty room to do his thing. They’re all at lunch now so he has time to get the experiments ready. “Back to teaching already?”

“Clarke doesn’t want me at guard stuff for a while so I’m here full time until she deems me clear,” Nate says. He smiles and Monty tells himself not to stare. “I was surprised at how many of the kids missed me.”

“Bellamy’s not as devoted to Shakespeare as you,” Monty teases, and Nate’s smile grows.

“There’re so many new children,” Nate says. “It’s… we’re really growing.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Raven showed me plans to move to a city-spread instead of this small town feel we have going on.”

Monty laughs. “Yeah, but that’s still pretty far out. Hopefully we can maintain this area and just shift. She understands the mechanics of controlling the pendant radius more than I do.”

Nate hangs around as Monty sets up the beakers on each table. “You ever think you’ll turn it all back on?” he asks. “For everyone?”

Monty looks up at him. “No, we don’t have that kind of control yet. There’s a system somewhere, underground, heavily fortified. If the flip is switched on that then power comes back to everyone, but neither Wells or I know where it is. Hopefully someone else will find it one day, but for now we’re doing what we can.”

Nate nods in understanding. “Do you ever think about the… the bad shit that’ll come back with power?” he asks. “The weapons and the intensity of war?”

“I try not to,” Monty admits. He knows that he’s foolishly hopeful at times, that he can be naive, But he likes to think of the good that comes with power. The connection, the innovation, the creativity. “It’s not something we have to worry about yet,” he says.

“Yeah,” Nate agrees. “Yet.” Monty finishes setting up in silence and the bell rings announcing that the kids are coming back. “You mind if I stay?” Nate asks as Monty situates himself at the front of the room.

“By all means,” Monty gestures. “Take a seat.”

* * *

It’s a month after Nate returns does Monty realize what he’s been doing, and it makes Monty flood with warmth. Nate sneaks himself into small moments. He shows up to support Monty and lets Monty show up to support him. They encourage one another in their meetings.

They’re building up their friendship.

Between the original trip to Chicago and the mess of today, they’ve never really been _friends_. Before Nate left to find his father, before they fell into bed with one another, they’d pretended like they were friends, but they really weren’t. It was either all or nothing, and Nate’s been going slow. Intentionally. Creating this new foundation for the two of them.

Monty realizes this when they’re all out at the bar together. Bellamy has his arm draped over Clarke’s shoulder and Wells and Jasper are laughing about something and Nate orders another round for all of them. Monty’s happy. Nate smiles at him and Monty’s happier.

“I know what you’re doing,” Monty says, soft enough that only Nate can hear him.

Nate swallows a gulp of his ale. “And what’s that?” he asks. “Getting drunk?”

“No, Nate. With us.”

He sets his glass down and his smile stays. “I’m not doing anything, Monty.”

Monty purses his lips. “Sure.” He takes a drink as well. “Want to go on a walk?” he asks. Nate arches an eyebrow. “Just us? I want to show you what I’ve been working on.”

Nate lifts his glass again. “Okay.”

They finish their drinks before heading out and Monty leads Nate down some winding paths to get to where his latest project sits. There’s no rush to their walk and they keep their voices down as they go. They haven’t spent a lot of time one on one since Nate’s return, but that’s okay. It makes these moments, off on their own, so much more special.

Finally, they come to a stop. It’s a small tower, maybe a few stories high, with a radar on the top.

“What is it?” Nate asks.

“Weather tracker,” Monty says. Nate winds around the base of the tower with his neck craned, looking up. “Your dad mentioned something about the weather station a few weeks back and I got inspired. It’ll be nice to know when storms are coming so we can better prepare.”

“Impressive,” Nate says.

“Snow is rare in these parts,” Monty carries on, “but it’ll be nice to know things for the crops. Jasper’s really excited about it.”

“He should be, it’ll be really useful.” Nate looks down at him. “You do good work, Monty. You were meant for stuff like this.”

Monty manages a laugh. “I used to think I was born in the wrong era,” he admits. “I hated farming. And it always felt like there was something missing and now I just--it feels right,” he says. Nate smiles at him, brighter, and Monty exhales another laugh. “Thank you.”

Nate steps toward him slowly, and for a moment Monty wonders if he’s drunk like he’d been planning on, but his eyes look clear. “Maybe I am doing something,” Nate says. “With us.” He shakes his head a little. “All of the life-saving and power-having made it confusing, I think.”

“All of the missteps made it confusing too,” Monty adds.

“But I want you in my life, Monty. To some degree.” He stops in front of Monty, far enough that there’s some space but close enough for Monty to reach for his hands if he wants to. “I’m just not sure what that means yet,” Nate admits.

Monty nods. He can understand that. “You’re starting with friends,” he says, and Nate tips his head forward. “I--yeah. I know. I get it.” Monty hesitates before he says, “I’m still waiting for you though.”

Nate exhales. “Monty.”

“No, just--” Monty cuts himself off and he drops his gaze. “There’s always going to be part of me that’s afraid of the Militia. Part of me that’s always going to be angry at them. And I--as hard as I try to keep that inside of me, there’s always going to be part of it that’s tied to you. That’s just how it is.”

“I know.”

Monty makes himself be brave and reaches forward, grabbing Nate’s hands. “But I know you,” he says lowly. Nate looks up, meeting his eyes, and Monty smiles. “ _I know you_ ,” he says. “I know that _you_ are not the Militia, that you made your tough choices and you make them everyday.” Monty tugs him a touch closer. “And I like you, Nate. So much.” He watches Nate swallow. “There’s no one else. There just isn’t. And if you can live with the fact that I’m going to make mistakes sometimes,” Monty says, “then I promise to keep trying to be better.”

Nate swallows and Monty squeezes his hands, waiting for an answer. “I’ve never been good at this,” Nate says. “Being with someone.” He lets out a long breath, shaking his head just a touch. “Before you, Monty, I’d been burned before. And then I had you and you ended it, twice, to some degree and that--it makes it hard for me. I’m not--” he manages a laugh. “I’m not this unmovable force that can handle everything that’s thrown at me.”

“I know that,” Monty says.

“I’m still trying to figure out who I am now,” Nate says. Monty waits for him to elaborate. “I’m no longer in the Militia, I’m no longer working for someone else. I can make my own choices now and decide between what kind of problems there are and I just--I’m not sure how or even _if_ you fit into that yet.” Monty nods and goes to let go, but Nate tightens his hold on Monty’s hands. “But I like you too,” he whispers. “I always will.”

“It feels like we’re breaking up and we’re not even together,” Monty blurts, and Nate laughs.

“No, that’s not what I’m doing.”

“Okay.”

“I just need more time,” Nate says. “To be my own person and navigate this new life for a bit longer.”

“Okay,” Monty says again. “Okay. Yeah. Definitely. I understand.”

Nate arches an eyebrow, still smiling. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” Monty tells him. “And I can wait.”

* * *

Their settlement expands rapidly. They have street lights that function and working water and even have started testing a few cars. It feels like Monty wakes up one day and the world is different, even though they’ve been building this life for months now.

“We should probably stop calling it the settlement,” Bellamy says one day. “And no offense, but I’m not a big fan of _City of Light_.”

“Sounds like bullshit,” Clarke offers.

“Hate it,” Raven agrees.

“What about Arkadia?” Wells asks, and somehow, it sticks.

Monty gives Nate his space and watches, from afar, as Nate does what he needs to grow on his own. He’s spotted around Arkadia teaching English to the kids and self-defense to the older ones. He and Wells hang out at the bar and have Gina teach them how to make beer. He and Raven stroll down the streets with laughter between them. He and Bellamy join Murphy on their outings to find things they need for the school.

He grows into the leader he’s always been day by day and, sometimes, Monty finds himself by Nate’s side, and everything feels right.

Monty grows on his own as well. He goes on friend-dates with Jasper and tries painting with Clarke and makes friends with the students he teaches at the school. While Monty wants a life with Nate, and Nate might want something with Monty, it doesn’t stop them from living their lives.

They go on like this for a long time until, one night, Monty tosses and turns with the inability to sleep. He’d read somewhere that looking at screens for too long wasn’t great for the brain, so he’d been trying to cut back on his work, but getting working computers in the school was so _exciting_ that he’d been at it for a very long time after the sun went down.

Unable to fall asleep Monty climbs out of his bed and starts off for his workshop. He and Raven have been working weird hours so he half expects to find her in there, but when the space is empty he settles down and begins to tinker. It calms down the weird itch beneath his skin and, because he’s not looking at a screen, he figures he’ll be okay.

He’s there for about half an hour when a knock startles him. He looks up to find Nate entering cautiously, his face a mask of worry, and Monty sets down his work at once. “Hey,” he greets.

“Hey,” Nate returns. “I saw the light on.”

“Just tinkering,” Monty tells him. “Couldn’t sleep.” This might not be daily for Monty, but it happens enough that it shouldn’t really concern anyone when they see him up late. The bigger concern is Nate’s appearance. “Are you okay?”

“Nightmare,” he answers. “Can I come in?”

Monty nods and Nate enters, taking the seat across from him without words. Monty doesn’t push him and Nate doesn’t ask to be pushed. Monty simply goes back to work while Nate watches, his eyes trained on Monty’s able fingers working wires around in a board. The only sound that fills the room is their breathing and Monty’s work, and that’s fine. It’s comforting and quiet and kind of nice to have someone in the room with him.

Monty’s not sure how much time passes before Nate clears his throat. His eyes flicker up to see Nate and his hands still. “Has anyone told you about what they did to me yet?” Nate asks.

Monty holds his gaze for a long moment before looking back to his things. “No,” Monty answers as he resumes working. “I mean I know a little,” he says, “but I didn’t go digging.”

“I really didn’t think I was going to make it back,” Nate murmurs. “I thought that was it.”

Monty keeps working, keeps focusing on his work, simply because he doesn’t want Nate to feel pressured into speaking. He thinks if he keeps this up, maybe Nate will share with him.

“I mean you didn’t look so great when you came in.”

Nate exhales a laugh. “Yeah. That’s true.” He’s quiet again. “Even though I’m here and I’m safe and all of that I can’t get away from it.” Monty’s eyes flick up again but Nate’s looking somewhere else. “I keep expecting the nightmares to stop but they don’t.”

“Maybe you should climb into bed with Bellamy and Clarke,” Monty offers.

Nate laughs again. “Yeah, maybe. Sleeping with someone might actually help.” Their eyes meet briefly before Monty looks down again. Silence returns but it’s an easy sort of silence. “I’ll tell you one day,” Nate says. “What they did.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Nate says. Monty looks up again and something inside of him settles. He sets his tools down and Nate’s mouth curves into a soft smile. “Can I walk you back?” he asks.

“It’s just down the street,” Monty says, but Nate shrugs. “Sure, yeah. That’d be nice.”

Monty stands and the two of them turn off all of the lights before heading down the sidewalk toward Monty’s place. While they walk Monty feels his hand brush against Nate’s, and soon enough Nate twines their fingers together. Monty lets out a soft breath and tries to ignore the way his heart warms his entire body. They stop outside of Monty’s door and Nate tugs Monty toward him, just a touch.

“Something about you makes me feel safe again,” Nate murmurs. His voice is thick, like saying this is hard for him, and it’s too dark to really see his eyes. “I feel… grounded. Like myself.”

“Nate…”

Nate reaches out with his other hand and slides it around Monty’s waist, pulling him forward. “Monty, I--”

“I don’t want to do this if it’s just for tonight,” Monty stops him. Nate lowers his forehead to his. “You need comfort, I get that,” Monty says quickly. “And I want to be that for you, but not if that’s all this is.” Nate exhales and Monty feels it against his mouth. It’d be so easy to kiss him right now, but so wrong. “I want this to be _right_ ,” Monty whispers. “Please, Nate.”

He knows if Nate kisses him then it’s all over. Monty will melt into it and pull him inside without hesitation. So he can’t. Nate can’t kiss him.

But he does. Nate pulls back and presses his lips to Monty’s forehead before pulling away entirely. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he says softly. Monty snags Nate’s hand before he walks away and tugs it toward him, pressing a kiss to Nate’s knuckles before he can get too far. “Goodnight,” Nate rasps.

“Goodnight,” Monty returns. When he climbs into bed afterwards, sleep comes easy.

* * *

The following week is like that. The two of them brush hands and share smiles and sit close without there being any real pressure to it. There’s something about it that makes Monty feel hopeful. Nothing inside of him demands a rush or a push or a need for it to happen _now_. They have the rest of their lives to get it right, so for now Monty doesn’t mind taking his time.

That is, until there’s another attack on Arkadia.

It’s not _obvious_ what they have hidden behind their tall strong walls, but rumors only grow, and when Pike’s Militia shows up as the weather grows cold, Monty starts to worry.

“It’s just a show of strength,” Nate tells him one night as Monty paces the strategy room. They have a strategy room for reasons like this, for when the bad guys show up, but he never sincerely thought they would _need_ it. “This isn’t something for you to concern yourself with, Monty. We have a team that’s prepared.”

Monty huffs and turns to him. “I want to know the plan,” he says.

“No,” Nate says. “It isn’t necessary. You’ll just worry yourself sick.” Nate rests his hands on Monty’s shoulders and squeezes. “We’re ready for this,” Nate says gently. “We’ve been ready for this since we first put up the walls. Okay?”

Monty doesn’t like this answer but he nods anyway. “Are you going to be okay?” Monty asks. Nate’s hands slide down Monty’s shoulders until his arms are back by his sides. “Nate.”

“I will be,” Nate tells him, but there’s uncertainty in his voice. “This is my job.”

“Not anymore,” Monty reminds him. “You can just--focus on the kids and the school, and--”

“We knew this day would come, Monty, and I knew I’d be here fighting.” He dips his head forward again. “I’ll be okay,” he repeats.

Monty learns things that he’s not supposed to. Pike isn’t there at the fight, and it’s just a small rogue group of Militia, but they’re here because they’re greedy and they want what Arkadia has, not to join them. There’s a week straight of a fight Monty doesn’t ever get to see. It’s on the other side of the wall. He can hear the gunfire and sometimes the walls shake from bombs but their defenses hold, no matter how many times Monty’s anxiety is sure that it’s the end.

He doesn’t see Nate through the duration of it. If he’s not fighting he’s planning or sleeping or eating. There’s no time for Monty to offer him a smile of comfort or hold his hand or anything like that. It’s just battle after battle while Monty battles the nerves that linger in his stomach.

“I can’t do it anymore,” Clarke announces one evening when the walls continue to rattle. “I need to--I need to _do_ something.”

Doctor Jackson relieved her from her duty as stand-by medic and, despite her persistence to stay, she finally retreated to her home. It’s Monty and Clarke and Jasper there now, all waiting for this fight to end, and Clarke is crawling out of her skin.

“Like what?” Jasper asks. “Alcohol?”

“No, they might need me eventually.” She lets out a long breath. “One of you. Let me cut your hair.”

Jasper laughs. “No! No way, Clarke.”

“I cut Bellamy’s hair all the time,” she says. “I have surgeon hands, I’m good at it.” Clarke turns to Monty. “Monty, let me cut your hair.”

Monty reaches up, brushing his fingers through his locks. It has gotten a little longer than he would like. He hasn’t been by to see the local barber in a while. “Sure,” he says.

Jasper laughs again. “Seriously, Monty?”

“Yeah,” he says. “It’ll be good. C’mon, Clarke, cut my hair.”

Surprisingly, it’s a great distraction. They take their time setting up the chair in the kitchen, and the two of them talk through different haircuts for a while before Monty actually settles down. Clarke has to focus intently and Jasper holds the mirror so Monty can watch. It’s a quiet affair with some laughter every now and then, and then it’s over.

Monty brushes his hands through his hair and smiles. “Wow,” he says.

“It’s short,” Jasper agrees.

Clarke worries her bottom lip. “Do you like it? I took a lot off.”

Monty nods, beaming at her. “It’s great, Clarke. Thank you.”

Jasper eventually agrees to a haircut too, which takes up another great chunk of time, and then they tease Clarke about cutting _her_ hair which she refuses. “I cut Bellamy’s and Bellamy cuts mine,” she says. “I’ll wait until the fight is over.”

All three of them climb into Clarke’s bed that night and talk until they fall asleep.

They wake up in the morning to Bellamy in the doorway, a cheesy smile on his face. “This is cute,” he says, gesturing to the three of them curled together. Clarke leaps out of bed and runs for him. “It’s over,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around her. “It’s over, we won.”

Jasper rubs his blurry eyes and smiles and Monty shuffles out of bed quickly. He wants to see Nate as soon as he can. No one calls after him as he tugs on his shoes and hurries out of Clarke’s place, across the neighborhood to where Nate’s set up, and knocks frantically on his door. David’s the one who answers and there’s a bright smile on his face as he opens the door.

“Hi Monty.”

“Nate?”

“Upstairs.”

Monty offers him a smile of his own as David steps out of the way so Monty can rush inside. He takes the steps two at a time before ending up at Nate’s room, knocking a few times. “Dad, I said I just need--” Nate pulls open the door and finds Monty, stopping in his words. “To shower,” he finishes. “Hi.”

Monty throws himself at Nate who winds his arms around him in response. He wants to say something. _I’m glad you’re okay. It’s so nice to see you_. Something, something, but he can’t find any words.

Nate lets out a soft breath and props his chin up on Monty’s shoulder. “Missed you this week,” Nate finally murmurs.

Monty laughs, pulling back, surprised that his eyes are watery. “I missed you too,” he says.

Nate’s mouth parts slightly and he tips his head to the side just a touch. “You got your haircut,” Nate says. He reaches out carefully, fingers carding gently through Monty’s hair.

“Yeah.”

Nate smiles then, his half-smile like he’s feeling shy, like he can’t believe that Monty exists in the same space as him smile, and Monty’s stomach flips. Nate pulls backwards, giving them a step of space between them.

“I like this look,” he says.

“I like you,” Monty responds.

Nate’s smile grows and he shakes his head fondly. “That’s not what we were talking about,” he says.

“I just wanted to let you know anyway,” Monty says.

“I like you too,” Nate says, but he’s too far away from Monty for Monty to _feel_ it. “But you already knew that.” Monty’s eyes flicker downward--Nate’s shirtless--and his eyes snag on the burn on his chest. Nate’s smile fades briefly but Monty shakes his head. He doesn’t need to be ashamed. Instead, Monty reaches up, fingertips brushing the scarring. Nate catches Monty’s wrist before tugging Monty toward him again for another hug. Monty closes his eyes and lives in this moment for as long as he can. “I need to shower,” Nate murmurs.

“Can you come home?” Monty whispers.

Nate pulls back and his face transforms into disbelief, into shock, into something Monty can’t put words to. “Home?” he echoes.

It’s only then that Monty realizes he’s crafted this _home_ in his head. Nate’s stayed with him before but it’s never been _theirs_. And this invitation for it to be home, for this place to become both of theirs, Nate can’t even speak. Monty realizes his error in words but can’t say anything because he’s worried Nate will say no. He’s worried that this will set them back again.

“With me,” Monty adds gently, knowing that isn’t what he meant.

Nate reaches up, cupping his cheek. “Can I shower first?” he asks, and Monty grins.

* * *

There’s a celebration of sorts at the end of the day once everyone has had some time to clean and refresh. It’s brilliant. There are drinks passed around and the streetlights are lighting up the neighborhood and children chase one another around laughing while their parents sit back with smiles on their faces.

They may have only won one battle in the fight for the future, and there will definitely be more to come, but it gives them all hope. Monty settles down on the curb, Jasper to one side of him and Raven to the other. Someone’s playing some music and someone else built a bonfire and, Monty’s thought it before, but it feels like the beginning of something new.

He’s never going to get used to this future that they’ve built.

Nate’s standing across the way with Clarke and Bellamy, the three of them laughing about something together. Monty watches Nate take a swig from a bottle of something and his eyes dart over to Monty while his smile settles on his face.

“How’s that?” Raven asks, nudging Monty slyly.

“Soon,” Monty answers. “I hope.”

Raven nods. “Me too.”

The celebrations carry long into the night but Monty aches for bed so he finds himself standing to leave before many others. He strides across the street to Nate and gets him alone for a moment. “I’m heading home,” he says. “If you, um. Want to come with me.”

Nate hesitates. “Give me half an hour?” he asks.

“You don’t have to.”

“Give me half an hour,” Nate says again, and Monty nods.

Monty goes around, saying goodnight to everyone else, hugging all of his friends to let them know how grateful he is for their existence in his life, before he eventually heads back home. Monty passes some time by doing dishes, by straightening up the living room, by opening an book and immediately closing it before he checks the time again.

Nearly an hour has passed before there’s a soft knock on his door. Monty leaps up to answer it and there Nate is on the other side, hands shoved into his pocket.

“Hi,” Monty greets.

“I almost didn’t come,” Nate says. Monty tries not to read into that. “I just, I’m not sure what I want, Monty,” he says. Monty opens the door a touch wider so Nate can enter and he does so without hesitation. “I’m still afraid,” Nate carries on as Monty closes the door behind him. “And confused. And all of these other things, I just…” he turns, looking toward Monty slowly. “I’ve tried getting over you,” Nate murmurs. “And I’ve tried just being your your friend. But--Jesus Christ, I miss you.”

“I want to be with you,” Monty tells him. “All in, Nate.”

Nate steps toward him. “I’m worried I’m making you something you’re not in my head,” he says. Monty reaches out, grabbing his hands. “You really want this,” Nate says slowly. “Right?”

“You know I do.”

“No, I mean…” Nate takes a deep breath. “ _All_ of this. This… soft future where we just… rebuild.” Monty nods again and Nate’s eyebrows furrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Monty says. And he means it. “The blame that was there Nate, I…” he catches the lapels of Nate’s shirt and refuses to let him step away. “I can’t ever take it back. But I’m sorry.” He needs Nate to know this, how he feels. “I trust you. And this future, this place? It wouldn’t be any good without you.”

Nate’s eyes fall shut. The moment stretches on for a long time before he says, “I think I love you.” It’s quiet, like a secret, the way he says it. A secret of shame, a secret of fear. But to hear it said out loud? To hear the words that Monty’s been too cowardly to speak? It makes him feel like light itself.

“I love you too,” Monty whispers back, and the heavy burden that lingers on Nate eases at once. “So much, Nate. I love you too.” Nate’s eyes open slowly and Monty nods, again and again, feeling some sense of freedom for finally being able to say it to this man. He reaches up, letting go of Nate’s shirt to cup his cheeks. “Nate--”

Nate leans in and kisses him and Monty pushes everything he can into this kiss, all of the apologies he can’t vocalize and the neediness that pulses in his veins and the desperation for this. This kiss. This moment. This man. Nate opens his mouth with the kiss and sighs and Monty wants to freeze this moment and live in it forever, run his fingers down Nate’s spine and against the planes of his back.

Monty thought this kiss would feel familiar, like coming home, but it’s more than that. It’s a kiss of promise, of a future. It’s like nothing they’ve ever shared before, the hope and joy and truth that they’re building something new together. Nate tugs him close, his arms winding around Monty and pressing him backwards against the door.

They kiss to make up for all of the lost time, Monty opening his mouth for Nate’s tongue, Nate pushing Monty’s shirt upwards so his hands can press against Monty’s skin, until there’s a short knock on the door.

“Uh… Monty?”

Nate pulls back before pitching himself forward, laughing into the crook of Monty’s neck. “Sorry Jasper,” Monty rasps.

They move out of the way so Jasper can enter, a ditzy smile on his face as Monty winds his arms around Nate’s middle and presses himself close. “You know you have a bedroom,” Jasper reminds him.

“Mm, thanks.”

Jasper moves to the kitchen and Monty tugs Nate toward the staircase. There’s no rush anymore, no urgency as they make their way up the stairs. It’s not like last time and it’s not going to be like last time. Nate tugs Monty’s bedroom door shut the moment they enter and Monty perches on the edge of the mattress so he can take off his shoes.

“I’m sure you’re tired,” Monty says, and Nate nods. “Let’s go to sleep.”

They strip down to their boxers before climbing into bed and Monty nuzzles close. Nate drapes his arm over Monty’s waist and turns, pressing a kiss to Monty’s forehead. They fall asleep together.

* * *

Waking up is harder.

In the morning, despite being tangled together, there’s clearly some fear that lingers in Nate’s eyes. He seems hesitant and afraid to speak, like all of the tension he has is wound up in his stomach making him nauseous. To distract him from this, Monty talks.

He talks about the weather radar he’s set up and how handy it’s been and he talks about when Clarke cut his hair and how smooth and patient she was and he talks about a new experiment he’s planning for the kids at school. Every now and then he’ll lean in for a kiss and Nate will grant him one before the continue in their routine. Monty traces his fingers over Nate’s chest and Nate watches with eyes that slowly grow softer, brighter, and they stay in bed long after the sun rises.

Nate brushes his fingers through Monty’s hair and twists their ankles together under the sheets and, slowly, slowly, the nerves fade.

“What now?” Nate finally asks. “With us,” Nate clarifies.

“Let’s get married,” Monty says. Nate arches a curious eyebrow and Monty laughs. “I’m kidding,” he soothes, and Nate’s mouth quirks into a smile. “I don’t know. What now?”

“One day at a time?” Nate offers.

“One day at a time,” Monty agrees.

* * *

Not much changes, but that’s good. Monty doesn’t want his world to be upended by the fact that he and Nate are together now.

If they stay the night at one another’s, they rotate so they’re not always at one person’s house. They go for meals together. Monty eats dinner with Nate and David. Their friends start out skeptical but tease them the more that time goes on. They stroll hand in hand around Arkadia and talk about their days, about their past, about their struggles.

When Bellamy proposes to Clarke, Monty and Nate are there to celebrate. When Raven figures out how to duplicate the powers of a pendant, Nate and Monty start mapping out a new community to expand to with Wells by their side. When Jasper brings in the crop and it’s more bountiful than anyone anticipated, everyone indulges.

They’re lying in bed one night (Nate’s place this time) when Monty clears his throat. Nate looks over at him, an eyebrow arched, and Monty takes a deep breath.

“When we expand to the city,” Monty says, “I want to be one of the ones to go.”

Nate nods slowly. They’ve been talking about it as a community for awhile now. They’re bringing in more families so it would make sense to move the singles to an apartment-like style of living so the families can have the homes, and with the amount of people in general they’re going to need more space. They don’t want to turn anyone away if they can help it.

“How far is that by bike?” Nate asks.

Monty shrugs. “I think last time was around two hours roundtrip? Plus breaks for water.”

“The path isn’t clear yet either,” Nate points out. There was a lot of maneuvering through debris and cars and new natural blockades. “Plus Raven’s working on that car.”

“Solar energy,” Monty says with a nod. Wells is adamant that every step they take toward this future that they’re building brings in some degree of green technology. “It’s still in early stages.”

“But when that starts working it’ll be--what, fifteen minute drive, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Monty says.

“I can make that,” Nate says, and Monty sinks down on the bed. “Unless we’re opening another school in the city, then Bellamy will just have to find a replacement for me.”

“Wait…” Monty trails off while Nate’s smile grows slowly. “You’d come with me?”

Nate reaches up, fingers brushing Monty’s cheek. “Mm. If you’d let me.”

“If I’d _let_ you? Since when have I ever been in charge of what you do?” Nate laughs before bending in for a kiss. “I didn’t want to ask,” Monty murmurs against Nate’s mouth. “I was worried you’d say no.”

“Stupid worry,” Nate murmurs back. “Besides, you can’t be the only one of us to go. You need support.”

“Raven would come. And--”

“Do you not want me to come?” Nate asks. He pulls back enough that they can look into one another’s eyes. “If you want me to stay here, then--”

“No, that’s not it,” Monty stops him. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

“I don’t feel like I have to,” Nate says gently. “I want to. Because I want to be with you wherever you go.” Monty’s chest feels like it’s a million degrees. It doesn’t matter how long they’ve been over the stress and anxiety of their relationship, there’s always going to be that small part that lingers. “I love you, Monty,” Nate says, and Monty feels it in his fingertips. “Of course I want to go with you.”

Monty kisses Nate again because he doesn’t have the right words to say. Thank you feels wrong. Even saying _I love you_ back doesn’t feel like it would make enough of an impact. Nate leans over him and presses him down onto the mattress before kissing across Monty’s chin, down his throat.

“Can you believe,” Monty rasps as Nate makes his way down Monty’s chest, “where we started?”

Nate pops up to look at him, his eyes shining. “Not really,” he admits.

Monty collapses backwards, shaking his head. Nate with his hidden Militia burn on his wrist, Monty with a notebook that had words he didn’t understand, secrets hidden between them both. Now the mark is gone and the notebook helps light streets and the secrets are shared.

“It’ll be a lot of work,” Monty manages, thinking of this future that they want to build. “Nearly constant.”

“I know. I did this,” Nate says, referring to the settlement, “didn’t I?”

“This is bigger,” Monty stresses. A whole city? Their small settlement will be nothing in comparison. “More dangerous, more long days.”

“Are you trying to persuade me to stay here?”

“I just want you to know what you’re getting into if you come.”

“Monty.” Nate sits up now, shifting his weight so he can better look at him. “The moment you pulled out that pendant for the very first time,” Nate says, “and dragged me into that old abandoned house and showed me what it could do, I knew it wouldn’t be easy.” Monty tips his head backwards to stare at the ceiling. “And it’s not,” Nate says. “It’s not easy. But I’m happy, babe. I like the work that we do. I like doing it with you.”

Monty’s eyes spring with tears and he nods while Nate cups his cheeks. “Sorry,” Monty murmurs, blinking hard. “It’s just…” Nate brushes tears away with his thumb. “I don’t know. I lost my parents,” Monty manages, “and I still have Jasper but you… you’re--”

“Hey,” Nate says gently.

“I really love you,” Monty manages. Nate leans in to kiss him gently.

He can’t say it, not yet, but Nate’s _family_. Nate especially, but Clarke and Bellamy and Raven and Wells and all of their friends too. After having his own ripped away from him, this new life with this man and these people have given him a new place to call home, a new group of people to love.

Monty couldn’t ask for anything better.

* * *

They start the next week and Monty’s surprised at how excited he is to begin a new project. Not that revamping an entire city to be sustainable and such is _just_ a project, but it feels good to get his fingers moving.

The building crew comes out every day with Monty and the team that he’s selected to help. Nate supervises the guard and does some of the shift on his own while Raven and Monty rip wires from buildings to begin again. It’s hard, long work just as Monty promised Nate it would be, but every night Monty’s muscles ache in a good way.

They’re a few weeks into it when late one evening Monty finds himself on the roof of a very tall building. He’s there for no reason other than the view. The sky is rapidly setting and the stars twinkle in the sky and he dangles his feet over the edge, liking the thrill of it.

“I’d feel a lot better if you scoot back a couple of feet,” he hears, and turns to find Nate striding out to join him. He’s got a bottle of something in his hands and Monty obliges, scooting back toward the center of the roof so he’s not so close. “Makes me nervous.”

“Sinclair tested the building,” Monty reminds him. “It’s structurally sound.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t mean much to me.” Monty laughs and Nate holds up the bottle. “Wine?”

“Sure.”

Nate pops the cork and takes a swig before passing it over to Monty. “This is going to take years,” Nate says while Monty takes his own drink. “This city. It’s not even--” he laughs. “It’s not even a city like I remember. It’s like, a small town with some taller buildings.”

“It’s our city,” Monty says with a smile. He passes the bottle back. “But, yeah. I know. We’re bringing more construction people over next week, and Raven and I have some promising people to help with the tech. But--still. Years.”

Nate lounges backwards on his hands and his face flickers with a burst of confusion. “Is that Arkadia?” he asks, gesturing in the distance, and Monty nods. It’s why he likes the roof. From all the way up here he can see Arkadia where it was built, the light glowing and filling the space between them no matter how many miles away it is. “Damn,” Nate says. “That’s a sight.”

“Isn’t it?” Monty agrees.

He wonders what it used to be like. He can’t really remember from when he was a kid, but power was a constant. Lights were everywhere shining and now their settlement is one of the only places in the entire world as far as they know to have that same light. Monty stretches out, his hand covering Nate’s as they relax.

“The whole world was like that once,” Nate says, his voice softer. “We… have the beginnings of a new world.”

“I know,” Monty says. “It’s insane.”

“It’s not insane, it’s more than that,” Nate responds. “There’s--” he laughs again. “There’s no word to describe it, Monty. It’s more than just light it’s cars and… television and coffee makers and…!” Nate laughs another time. “It’s everything.” He looks over to Monty, his smile overwhelming and bright. “You did this.”

“Shut up,” Monty says. “We did this. All of us.” Monty squeezes his hand. “Our elders fucked over the world for us and we brought it back to life.” Nate laughs again and Monty’s not sure it’s the wine he’s going to get drunk off of. “God, it’s--you’re right, there aren’t words for it.”

“You really think we’ll be able to bring power back to the whole world?” Nate asks, turning to Monty.

“You know, I really don’t know,” Monty says.

There are so many barriers to it, but God dammit these are the smartest, hardest working people Monty’s ever met. So, yeah, maybe one day they’ll figure out how to return power to the rest of the world.

But for now, with their small settlement that stands glowing in the distance, with Nate’s hand in his own, this is a damn good start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh not my favorite fic i've ever written but again it was for annie and i love revolution and i love annie (as stated previously) and i love minty and maybe it is thematically flawed and has plot holes and weird scenes but WHATEVER i hope you liked it thank you for reading !!!!


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